January 18th I changed the way I worked out. After getting on a scale and seeing that I’d only lost two pounds since August and I was working out nearly every day–and the workouts were grueling, too–I made a decision to go back to what I knew. What I loved. And what I enjoy.
I love weights. Lifting heavy, fatiguing at rep 8, or 11 on the way to 12. I love doing three sets, and struggling to complete each set. I love resting 30 seconds to a minute between sets, or immediately shifting to an alternating body part. Leg extensions and dead lifts. Bench press and seated row. Bicep curls and tricep push dows.
I have a garage full of free weights, bench presses, cable machines. And so three times a week I head to my garage and I blow it out. I’m also keeping an eye on calories but am not fanatical. And guess what? In three weeks I lost five pounds. I know, it’s only five and I still have at least twenty to go but after six months of no progress to have progress feels fantastic.
I feel fantastic. My deltoids and lats and glutes feel fantastic. Muscle is me. I’m a little bulldog. I need to carry muscle, need to see definition, need to feel strong. And the way I work out isn’t for everyone. Some people respond better to intense cardio, or boot camp circuit training. I need weights. I love weights. They feel…sexy.
Funny, I feel sexier, too.
So I’m savoring my little success and patting myself on the back. And while I’m doing that, I’m admiring my lovely new muscles.