As a person that’s pretty content with life and happy with my body image, I love to indulge in the nastiest of habits and convince myself that it’ll disappear later. Okay, so maybe chocolate isn’t THAT bad a habit, but it certainly remains visible on my body.
For example, my toned abdominal muscles and I have temporarily parted ways. It was a very sad divorce but shit happens.
Yesterday I had a ripper of an idea to do some squats since I felt a bit flat. Well today, I’m not friends with walking, toilet seats and stairs. This is why working out and I are not friends. It’s like a toxic relationship that always results in being hurt. But I continue to go back for more.
So I play a few game of basketball a week and I am at a great risk of gaining half a dozen bruises and what not. My buttocks felt fine last night so off I went to impersonate Kobe Bryant and bam! The bitch gave me a whopper of a corky. Now I understand why my brothers wear padded compression shorts.
Knees are brutal as fuck.
So you can imagine me starting my Monday by attempting to get out of bed only to realise how much of an old woman I had become in just under twelve hours.
I am so not looking forward to the whole shredding for stereo bullshit if this is how I feel after a dozen squats.
If only food would go to my ass like it does my stomach.