Monday, July 08, 2013
Mornings. They suck.
No matter how much I wake in the morning, my circadian rhythm is such that I want to be up when it is dark and cool and asleep when the sun is out. Mornings are not my friend. I have choice words for them.
To wake myself up, every morning I slam down 50 pushups, laying on the floor of my closet before I move to the bathroom to shower and work through my morning routine. Today I pushed forty-two out before a break. I pushed the last eight out a few seconds later after catching my breath. I stood up and walked into the bathroom for my morning weigh-in and to turn the water on for the shower.
Then I saw myself.
(fact: a dude with somewhat longer than average hair has amazingly robert smith-esque locks when he wakes up. This makes others laugh. For me, it's just an indication that I did get my requisite five last night, maybe more)
Hm. That guy is starting to lose his belly fat. And his shoulders are starting to get defined. And the muffin-top obliques are fading. Wait, what is that? Are those...? no. couldn't be. Wait, no, yes. I'm getting muscle definition.
Not a lot mind you, I have a way to go. But as I stood there naked looking at this moderately attractive stranger with robert smith hair looking at me, I kind of say "ohhh. hot"
And then I stood on the scale and it rang in .2 pounds less than yesterday.
Back on track.
So I smiled.
I am not a morning guy, so any smile pre-7am is pretty damn shocking.
...and it's nice to be doing it because you're fining you like yourself more.
Will you respect me in the morning, the old phrase goes.
Seems I do.