Discipline

I have much to tell but work got in the way so I'm writing this in the evening, relying on oxygen deprived neurons to fire with the facts for once. I'm doomed.

So let's start by Joe Friday-ing this with just the facts ma'am.

Got up at 4:15 feeling sorta into it. Made the coffee, spoiled my wife some by prepping hers, loaded the bike and was on the road at 4:55am and starting the workout at 5:09am. I figure I'd be at work by 6:30am latest.

Today was Tempo Tuesday so I wanted to hold an average HR somewhere in the 150 range. That didn't happen ::sigh:: I only average 146 or 72% maxHR. The fifteen minute bike ride in seems to help. Anyhoo I wasn't into the music playing in the gym so I plugged in the iPod and went to work.

Me and My Bobby McGee got me going but around the midpoint Tom Petty's American Girl lashed me into an elliptical frenzy with its Rickenbacker rhythm and I felt it coming on... that kind of dream state I can get into when I'm doing cardio work. I close my eyes and I'm just... gone. I start tossing my head around and mumble (I hope!) the lyrics, if the song is 'right for the moment' I'm engulfed. Minutes tick by. Sometimes when I open my eyes I'll see someone grinning at me, I try not to care. I finish up with Emenem's Lose It and Dylan's Spirit on the Water for the cool down.

It would be insane for me to EVER wear an iPod on the bike.

It was only thirty minutes but it felt great. I'm totally covered in sweat. I stagger around a bit saying hi to Bubbles and IronMan. IronMan is doing some sort of floor work with sit ups and stuff. Being the helper man I am I ask if he wants the BOSU.

No?

Someone is cranky this morning.

Bubbles is pinching some FNG for the body assessment and so doesn't have time for my endorphin hindered brain. Might as well drink a cup of joe! I do that while staggering around feeling good about my workout then I do the ABS routine.

Bubbles will be changing my ABS routine this Thursday, the busy bee is also gonna help me with my diet. Awesome.

Right now the diet isn't going to well. Too much temptation and I don't seem to have the will to resist. I'm doomed. Doomed fat Bill. Today someone had their fiftieth birthday, did I have cake?

Two pieces and lets not forget the cobbler at lunch.

GROAN.

Do I want this or is 207 good enough? It comes down to looking that cake or ice cream or whatever over and walking away from it so that I can make my next goal of 190. When I started down this path it was easier to walk away, now cracks are showing on the food front. I'm hungry, working out hard and feel that I deserve it. I don't, not yet.

Bubbles can help but just like when she lays out a new routine and hands it to me it's then on me. She can't make me do anything I don't want to and now that I'm feeling like an angst filled teenager I'm wondering if I can dig deep for it and like Nike says, "Just Do It!"

Enough. This little passion play isn't over but I need to think of ways to avoid the kitchen until I push the weight down and drop into maintenance.

God is punishing me for my lack of discipline. I deserve His scorn. When suiting up to ride home I noticed I forgot to pack an extra t-shirt and sullenly put on the pannier fermented, wet one from the morning, my heart rate monitor showing through it like a black bra strap. That didn't occur to me until I was well on the road my thoughts turning from someone who looks like he's coming off a serious workout to a cross dressing-phreak on a bike further eroding the American Dream.

I don't have anything against cross-dressing phreaks, I just don't want to be one.

Not out in public anyway.