Pump...You Up

It may be a little late in life for this to happen, but I realized today that I have muscles. I was at the Y for my regular beating with the personal trainer. 5'2" of pure evil, she is, and I curse her name for days on end after each appointment.

Seated overhead presses today, with 15 lb. weights in each hand. 3 sets, 15 reps per set... they added up quickly.

Sometime during the 3rd set (I was halfway between hell and purgatory by then) she told me to look in the mirror. This is something I usually avoid while at the gym. I go there with bedhead, sweat like a swine in mating season, and wear way too little clothing to purposely spend time examining my reflection. "Look at that, the muscles are working," she said, and then reminded me that I still have 5 more reps.

Oddly, there were muscles working, and odder still, they were attached to my body. I could see them, struggling to show their form, slowly being liberated from their suffocating under 40 years of transfats and all-carb diets.

There's something so basic, so "animal instinct" about it. The jocks are supposed to be the dumb ones. We Brains have better things to do than sweat and lift heavy weights. They're called "dumbbells" right? But sweating and lifting may be the smartest thing I can do now that I'm 40+.

Will I ever become buff? One day I may free the six-pack from beneath the jelly rolls, but the Iron Woman title is safely in the hands of someone who hasn't inherited the genetic disposition for Livin' Large.

I am sort of liking this working out thing, though.