So I was killing time between the time I get home from work and the time I have to leave the house again to "do something." I was sitting in the bathroom, reading. (Don't just me, everyone reads best in the bathroom.) I have itchy winter skin and as I was scratching my thigh, I noticed something.
It was firm.
It was tight.
It had actually broken through the protective layers of fat I've grown on my legs.
Oh my stars! I have a muscle!
I haven't had a muscle in my leg since high school when I was in the Fox River Valley Lutheran Youth Band. (A shout out to BUS #4 on the Washington DC trip! WE RULE!)
Okay, I just had my 80's flashback. And I was thin.
Anyway, so I found this muscle on my leg. My right leg. My left leg hasn't apparently caught up yet. And now I'm wondering...how did this muscle get there. Will it be leaving? With others follow?
I'll admit, I was waiting for some sort of result. I mean, I've been working out at Gold's Gym 2-3 a week since the first of the year. I've been doing the treadmill, and yes, running has been involved. (Marie, I know that's all passive...I refuse to take ownership of my running style!) But there's been no weight loss, though my pants do seem to be a touch more loose.
I've been working out, and since I cut out my Starbucks trips COMPLETELY in the last four weeks, AND I'm still eating a largely vegetarian diet AND I haven't touched a Cheeto since Christmas...and there's been no weight loss.
I've found the reason.
Muscle weighs more than fat.
THE MUSCLE MUST DIE!
It would be easy. It's just there, right under the skin. I could just hack it out, magically lose 80 pounds, and call it a day. Then KRAM and Naturally Balding Mark wouldn't greet me like I'm one of those cute old ladies who gets a smile no matter what when I walk in to Gold's. Then I could stand next to that woman in the locker room, the one who blow dries her hair while she's naked because SHE'S JUST SO AWESOME.
I could leave the scale in the ladies' locker room on my weight so the girl behind me would feel bad about herself.
All I have to do is remove this one stupid muscle.
I rethink this. If I cut out the muscle, I'll bleed and I just don't have any bandages and I really don't feel like going to Walgreen's because I'm tired and I have a chapter to write and frankly this all sounds like a lot of work.
Maybe...maybe if I get a good night's sleep, the muscle will invite some friends and I'll be all buff. And then it won't matter how much I weigh because I'll be buff. And KRAM and Naturally Balding Mark will high five me, and I could tell that woman in the locker room to PUT ON SOME FREAKING CLOTHES. And I would abolish the scale in the locker room because weight is a number.
Or maybe I should just stop reading in the bathroom.
Okay. I'll admit it. I'm done. The war is over and I've lost. I'm done like the day I delivered my oldest and I infor...
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