149 pounds.
I sighed and stepped off my scale. It was Friday of Week 10, and it looked like I wasn’t going to hit my goal of 160 pounds by the end of the quarter. In fact, what I worried about happened instead, that would I would drop under 150 again.
I sat on my apartment couch to figure out what I wanted to do on a Friday early evening before finals week. Working out struck me as the most obvious choice because I knew I wouldn’t have any time during finals week. I decided on it, but as I finished up some of my internet business, I came across a flyer for Kreative Movement Audition workshops. Kreative Movement is Kaba Modern’s junior dance team, so of course I was too old to audition, but the workshop was free. It was going to start in thirty minutes.
Free dance workshop or work out. This was a familiar decision I’ve made before.
---
“Id & Ego”
Written March 12th, 2007 (Excerpted)
I get this incredible urge to blast through my front door and sprint down the street while wearing as little clothing as possible (basketball shorts, tank, shoes). My skin, soaking up the blue evening hues and breathing in the gentle twilight aura. [[I tried a little too hard my junior year.]] What it would feel like to be so carefree again, like a child with no inhibitions.
But just bursting out of my house with hardly anything on me, that just sounds pretty absurd, y’know? If I go outside, I gotta at least have on my favorite pair of jeans and some kind of jacket, and I’d also feel too naked if I didn’t have any arm jewelry. And what if people think I’m weird? And honestly, there are so many other things I can do that are a lot more productive. I’ve got that calculus homework assignment to start on, or a room to clean, or clothes to stow. My parents would also think I’m out do deal drugs again if I left unexpected and quickly, and they’d be constantly calling me on my cell to see what I was up to. There’s just so much to do: Standing up from my chair, digging around my floor for some jeans, searching for socks, shoving my cell into my pocket, fixing up my hair; when I’m “blasting” through my front door, I’m really walking through it and to my dad’s car for a ride to school or Oakridge instead.
---
“Brian, I haven’t seen you in forever!”
“Yeah.”
Don ran up to me with opens arms for a hug. He was a Kreative Movement Dancer that I saw from time to time at dance workshops, back when I used to frequent them. I put my backpack down in the front, found a place among the dancers, and I looked around as I got on the floor to stretch. We were on the fifth floor of the Social Science Parking Structure, where the steps and voices of all the dancers echoed back and forth. I missed being here.
After stretching, the instructors introduced themselves and talked a little bit about the piece they were going to teach. I felt a little knot in my stomach, one that I always got at the beginning of every class. Feelings of, Shit I can’t do this. Shit I’m so rusty. Shit I’m going to die in the first eight-count. Shit I have finals.
All such feelings however were alleviated once I realized I was dancing to the big beat sounds of CALIFORNIA GUURLS WE’RE SO INCREDIBLE. DAAIISY DUKES BIKINI...
---
“A Dance in Berkeley”
Written March 18th, 2007 (Excerpted)
After the dance, I waved goodbye to all the ST kids as they got on the bus. It was a cool evening, so I didn’t bother to put back on my shirt yet. I chose to walk through the Berkeley campus as opposed to walking on the streets because I was afraid of getting mobbed by hobos, but then I realized that my choice was actually pretty stupid because the Berkeley campus was secluded from public eyes and very dimly lit. It was pretty eerie, and a little chilling. But still, I tried to enjoy the cool crisp air, and still dressed in only my wifebeater, shorts, and flip-flops, I let what little Asian body hair I have stand up. And then, I decided, why the hell not? I sprinted as fast as my flip-flops would let me across campus, feeling each thud in my heart as my feet fell on the ground. What it felt like to be so carefree again; it was the most liberated I’ve felt in a while. Once I finally reached the streets, I ceased to a walk, but I felt like I still could’ve run or kicked a hobo’s ass.
My mind was cleansed of the drama and pressure that have been looming on my heart since the beginning of last December, and for the first time since then, I felt like I was thinking clearly again.
---
149 pounds.
I haven’t stepped on a scale sense then. I either don’t care anymore or I’m too afraid to check how much more weight I might’ve lost. What matters though is I’m finally dancing again.
Showing posts with label workout. Show all posts
Showing posts with label workout. Show all posts
Slave to the Machine
Friday, May 7, 2010
110 pounds.
I had to work out and gain weight. That was it. That was what I needed, what I needed in order to flush out all these images in my head. I told myself, the only reason those images were in my head, and the only reason I liked to look at the same images on the Internet, were that, being a skinny boy, I admired their bodies. Their pecs, their abs, their arms, their cocks, their cocks in other guys’ mouths, their cocks in other guys’ asses. Yes, if I worked out and got buff, I wouldn’t envy these men and their bodies anymore, and thus these images would never cross my mind again.
Just a few months ago before the start of eighth grade, my dad had bought me the Weider 8515, a home workout machine, and he told me that he didn’t want me to be skinny forever and that it was time to become a real man. I never thought anything serious of what he said until now.
Time to become a real man. I wanted to at least break 120 pounds.
I worked out pretty hard for a while. I followed the instruction manual’s workout plan for bulking up, doing each different exercise in three to five sets of eight to twelve reps each and taking two minute breaks in between each set. I used every part of the machine that was readily available: the lat bar for my lats, the butterfly bars and the imitation bench press for my chest, and the leg thingy for my legs.
At one point I thought it worked.
I went at least two months without jacking off and without looking at those images again.
Mission accomplished; it was time to celebrate by jacking off. To lesbian porno.
My earphones on and the volume of queefs on full blast, I sat back to squish around my limp dick for about fifteen minutes.
Ok, this was getting boring, so I tried to rationalize with myself: Today, I need to slowly ease myself into lesbian porno. I’ll start myself with five minutes of gay porno to get me hard and close, and just when I’m almost ready to shoot, I’ll switch back to the slutty girl on girl action.
I followed through with the plan. I watched two guys getting it on in an exotic rainforest and finished by watching ten seconds of a chick sit on another chick’s face. I figured, tomorrow, I’ll only look at gay porno until I’m halfway ready to shoot.
I ended up watching guys getting their faces sprayed with gallons of jizz for twenty straight minutes, from flaccid to climax. Shit.
153 pounds.
I officially peaked. The last four weeks of winter quarter 2010, I shot up from like 138 pounds to 150 pounds easily. Now, it was my sixth week into spring quarter, and I had been fluctuating from 150 to 155 pounds. 160, I need to fucking break 160.
I had been getting a lot of compliments, however. At the gym, I ran into my friend Ryan, a friend who I occasionally worked out with last year. “Damn Brian, your chest and your arms—you look so much bigger now!” He squeezed my bicep.
Alfonso and Khoa, upon seeing me in a tank, would say something like, “Oh shit, look at this buff man. You look so much bigger now.” “Now that’s the kind of chest I want,” Khoa would say.
This past week I ran into my dorm roommate Julian from last year, and he told me that I was looking hella “yoked” now. I wasn’t too sure what yoked meant, but I knew it didn’t mean “like a hella good dancer,” so I figured he thought I looked so much bigger now. The same day I also ran into a friend of Julian, who also grabbed at my pec a little and complimented it, saying, “You look so much bigger now. How do you get a chest like that?”
I felt like I had never gotten so many compliments about anything before.
I found myself at the gym again on Tuesday evening, lifting weights. Up, down, up, down, up, down. I was only going into my second set of bench presses when I realized, This is kinda boring. I finished off the set, and as I lied back down to get ready for my third, I thought to myself again, Why am I about spending one and a half hours at the gym again tonight? On my fourth set, This isn’t making me happy. On my fifth set, Didn’t I have other plans tonight? I realized that I had actually planned on taking a dance class at Boogiezone that night. For once I had extra money to spare, and since the beginning of the quarter I had only taken one other workshop class. That was extremely little compared to the twelve I took within the first two weeks of fall quarter. I really missed dancing.
Yet somehow, I found myself doing incline presses. Up, down, up, down, up, down, I pulled the barbell. And then it was too late to head over to Boogiezone. But wait! At 8:30, there was going to be hip hop class at the gym in one of the dance rooms, and I could’ve snuck in for free!
All I had to do was go upstairs.
But no. Dancing burned calories, calories that I couldn’t afford to burn because I needed to gain the seven pounds that I still needed. I decided that I would rather stay down here, to enslave myself to the rote, repetitive tasks of lifting—up down up down up down—and of pumping iron. Up, down, up, down.
112 pounds.
I studied myself in the mirror, shirtless. I tried to look at myself from different angles, bent my arms in different ways, tried to squeeze my pecs together. I realized I made no improvement. After two months I barely gained any muscle. I was still a stick, a fucking stick. How much weight did I gain? Like two pounds? I was weak.
It was time to get back to that damn Weider 8515.
I had to work out and gain weight. That was it. That was what I needed, what I needed in order to flush out all these images in my head. I told myself, the only reason those images were in my head, and the only reason I liked to look at the same images on the Internet, were that, being a skinny boy, I admired their bodies. Their pecs, their abs, their arms, their cocks, their cocks in other guys’ mouths, their cocks in other guys’ asses. Yes, if I worked out and got buff, I wouldn’t envy these men and their bodies anymore, and thus these images would never cross my mind again.
Just a few months ago before the start of eighth grade, my dad had bought me the Weider 8515, a home workout machine, and he told me that he didn’t want me to be skinny forever and that it was time to become a real man. I never thought anything serious of what he said until now. Time to become a real man. I wanted to at least break 120 pounds.
I worked out pretty hard for a while. I followed the instruction manual’s workout plan for bulking up, doing each different exercise in three to five sets of eight to twelve reps each and taking two minute breaks in between each set. I used every part of the machine that was readily available: the lat bar for my lats, the butterfly bars and the imitation bench press for my chest, and the leg thingy for my legs.
At one point I thought it worked.
I went at least two months without jacking off and without looking at those images again.
Mission accomplished; it was time to celebrate by jacking off. To lesbian porno.
My earphones on and the volume of queefs on full blast, I sat back to squish around my limp dick for about fifteen minutes.
Ok, this was getting boring, so I tried to rationalize with myself: Today, I need to slowly ease myself into lesbian porno. I’ll start myself with five minutes of gay porno to get me hard and close, and just when I’m almost ready to shoot, I’ll switch back to the slutty girl on girl action.
I followed through with the plan. I watched two guys getting it on in an exotic rainforest and finished by watching ten seconds of a chick sit on another chick’s face. I figured, tomorrow, I’ll only look at gay porno until I’m halfway ready to shoot.
I ended up watching guys getting their faces sprayed with gallons of jizz for twenty straight minutes, from flaccid to climax. Shit.
153 pounds.
I officially peaked. The last four weeks of winter quarter 2010, I shot up from like 138 pounds to 150 pounds easily. Now, it was my sixth week into spring quarter, and I had been fluctuating from 150 to 155 pounds. 160, I need to fucking break 160.
I had been getting a lot of compliments, however. At the gym, I ran into my friend Ryan, a friend who I occasionally worked out with last year. “Damn Brian, your chest and your arms—you look so much bigger now!” He squeezed my bicep.
Alfonso and Khoa, upon seeing me in a tank, would say something like, “Oh shit, look at this buff man. You look so much bigger now.” “Now that’s the kind of chest I want,” Khoa would say.
This past week I ran into my dorm roommate Julian from last year, and he told me that I was looking hella “yoked” now. I wasn’t too sure what yoked meant, but I knew it didn’t mean “like a hella good dancer,” so I figured he thought I looked so much bigger now. The same day I also ran into a friend of Julian, who also grabbed at my pec a little and complimented it, saying, “You look so much bigger now. How do you get a chest like that?”
I felt like I had never gotten so many compliments about anything before.
I found myself at the gym again on Tuesday evening, lifting weights. Up, down, up, down, up, down. I was only going into my second set of bench presses when I realized, This is kinda boring. I finished off the set, and as I lied back down to get ready for my third, I thought to myself again, Why am I about spending one and a half hours at the gym again tonight? On my fourth set, This isn’t making me happy. On my fifth set, Didn’t I have other plans tonight? I realized that I had actually planned on taking a dance class at Boogiezone that night. For once I had extra money to spare, and since the beginning of the quarter I had only taken one other workshop class. That was extremely little compared to the twelve I took within the first two weeks of fall quarter. I really missed dancing.
Yet somehow, I found myself doing incline presses. Up, down, up, down, up, down, I pulled the barbell. And then it was too late to head over to Boogiezone. But wait! At 8:30, there was going to be hip hop class at the gym in one of the dance rooms, and I could’ve snuck in for free!
All I had to do was go upstairs.
But no. Dancing burned calories, calories that I couldn’t afford to burn because I needed to gain the seven pounds that I still needed. I decided that I would rather stay down here, to enslave myself to the rote, repetitive tasks of lifting—up down up down up down—and of pumping iron. Up, down, up, down.
112 pounds.
I studied myself in the mirror, shirtless. I tried to look at myself from different angles, bent my arms in different ways, tried to squeeze my pecs together. I realized I made no improvement. After two months I barely gained any muscle. I was still a stick, a fucking stick. How much weight did I gain? Like two pounds? I was weak.
It was time to get back to that damn Weider 8515.
Nothing’s Really Changed
Saturday, April 3, 2010
150.2 pounds, as of this past Tuesday. Considering my erratic eating schedule during spring break, I was surprised, and relieved. I’m going to hit 160 by the end of the quarter. If my dancing doesn’t improve and if I don’t get a new pair of shoes, I’ll be fine as long as I reach this goal.
After putting on some clothes and making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I headed out the door to my first day of classes.
While walking to my English class at 9:30, I got a new voicemail. I figured it was a call from the Education Academy, because if anyone ever left me a voicemail in the morning, it’d be my boss to inform me that she’s cutting even more of my hours for the week. So when I listened to the voicemail, I was a little surprised:
“Hi Brian, this is Krista calling from Urban Outfitters at the Irvine Spectrum. I’m calling about the application you turned in about two weeks ago and I wanted to invite you to our interview...”
Two weeks ago. I had thought that they put my application through the shredder as soon as I walked out the door.
If I got this job, that would mean that I’d be quitting my job at the Education Academy earlier than I had expected.
Thursday night, I ran into Kevin while heading to the dining hall. I asked him if he wanted to take a dance class with me at the gym, but he had INSA practice at nine. I was a little disappointed, mainly because the dance class was a POP DIVA *BITCH* dance class, and I didn’t wanna be the only guy taking it in fear that I might look hella gay.
I was also a little disappointed because, knowing how far INSA had come along, I kinda wished that I had stayed dancing with them. I heard they were having their second or third hell week now for another upcoming performance.
Even though some practices pissed the hell out of me, being on a dance team was still fun. But that was over for me now.
Friday night, I was working out—nothing too different from other nights. I was texting Gay SF Andrew back and forth because he was in LA visiting. I asked him if he was going to visit Irvine, to which he responded that he was going to a kickback at Charles’s place Saturday night. I texted back, “Charles has a kickback tomorrow? Lol. Honestly I haven’t talked to anyone gay in Irvine for the last six months. Can you bring guests?”
Somehow, Andrew got me invited even though I didn’t ask to be invited. Seriously, all I asked was, “Can you bring guests?” and I guess Andrew made an assumption and asked Charles if I could come. Well, it looked like I was going.
Of course, I called my boyfriend to tell him about it. I didn’t want him thinking that I was going to go to the party to get trashed and get laid. He said he was chill with it. I’m happy that we have trust in our long distance relationship. I think the next time we see each other will be in May, so we’re going to end up missing our three-month anniversary together. I don’t think the fourth one will be a charm either, but at least I know that we’ll be spending time together on my birthday and that he’ll finally visit me in Irvine over Memorial Day weekend. Lots of things to look forward to in May.
Alright, so it’s Saturday night, almost 11 PM. Time to head out.
After putting on some clothes and making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I headed out the door to my first day of classes.
While walking to my English class at 9:30, I got a new voicemail. I figured it was a call from the Education Academy, because if anyone ever left me a voicemail in the morning, it’d be my boss to inform me that she’s cutting even more of my hours for the week. So when I listened to the voicemail, I was a little surprised:
“Hi Brian, this is Krista calling from Urban Outfitters at the Irvine Spectrum. I’m calling about the application you turned in about two weeks ago and I wanted to invite you to our interview...”
Two weeks ago. I had thought that they put my application through the shredder as soon as I walked out the door.
If I got this job, that would mean that I’d be quitting my job at the Education Academy earlier than I had expected.
Thursday night, I ran into Kevin while heading to the dining hall. I asked him if he wanted to take a dance class with me at the gym, but he had INSA practice at nine. I was a little disappointed, mainly because the dance class was a POP DIVA *BITCH* dance class, and I didn’t wanna be the only guy taking it in fear that I might look hella gay.
I was also a little disappointed because, knowing how far INSA had come along, I kinda wished that I had stayed dancing with them. I heard they were having their second or third hell week now for another upcoming performance.
Even though some practices pissed the hell out of me, being on a dance team was still fun. But that was over for me now.
Friday night, I was working out—nothing too different from other nights. I was texting Gay SF Andrew back and forth because he was in LA visiting. I asked him if he was going to visit Irvine, to which he responded that he was going to a kickback at Charles’s place Saturday night. I texted back, “Charles has a kickback tomorrow? Lol. Honestly I haven’t talked to anyone gay in Irvine for the last six months. Can you bring guests?”
Somehow, Andrew got me invited even though I didn’t ask to be invited. Seriously, all I asked was, “Can you bring guests?” and I guess Andrew made an assumption and asked Charles if I could come. Well, it looked like I was going.
Of course, I called my boyfriend to tell him about it. I didn’t want him thinking that I was going to go to the party to get trashed and get laid. He said he was chill with it. I’m happy that we have trust in our long distance relationship. I think the next time we see each other will be in May, so we’re going to end up missing our three-month anniversary together. I don’t think the fourth one will be a charm either, but at least I know that we’ll be spending time together on my birthday and that he’ll finally visit me in Irvine over Memorial Day weekend. Lots of things to look forward to in May.
Alright, so it’s Saturday night, almost 11 PM. Time to head out.
Tags:
dancing,
gay,
kevin,
ranier,
relationships,
socal,
teaching,
winter spring 2010,
workout
This Stud
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Since Breakthrough officially ended two weeks ago, I’ve been really good and consistent with keeping a daily workout routine going. I wake up every weekday around 11 (not 3 PM like last summer, so this is already looking pretty amazing) and I run a mile. This is the most running I’ve ever done since sophomore year in high school, back when it was just one mile per week. I’m not too sure what health benefits I’m getting from running every morning except for feeling like dead shit afterward, but I do know that I should eventually get a tan (and then skin cancer), and a tan is all that really matters.
And later in the day, I find time to work out, every week day. I am just too skinny right now. Trung thinks I have body dysmorphic disorder, a “psychological disorder in which the affected person is excessively concerned and preoccupied by a perceived defect in his or her physical features.” So if anything, it’s really just more motivation.
I’ve been eating a lot too. Four to five meals a day. I’m intent on gaining some weight, and I want to get to at least 150. When I started out, I weighed 139 pounds in the morning after waking up and taking a dump, and now I’m at 143 (in the morning after waking up and taking a dump). Things are looking good.
Compared to the rest of the workouts I’ve tried in the past, nothing is too exceptional about my current one except for that fact that two weeks is probably the longest I’ve ever been consistent. And I intend to keep going. I’ve got a few things motivating me:
I dropped sixty dollars on an eighty-serving bucket of whey protein. I had to spend all summer tranquilizing eighth graders to earn (very little) money, so I’m not going to let my sixty dollars collect dust.
And...
The following is a list of things that I can hold with my rock hard pec/breast/boob cleavage (in order of thinnest to thickest):
- .5mm lead.
- A straightened out paper clip.
- A pencil.
- A chopstick.
- A tooth brush.
- A marble (one of the bigger fat shooter ones).
I think holding one item is pretty easy, but two is definitely a lot harder. I tried shoving in two chopsticks, but my pecs can’t seem to hold onto that second one. My eventual goal is to hold three. (And yes, I do wash the chopsticks after I “use” them. Don’t freak out if I ever invite you over for pho. Though you should be careful about what pencil you pick up. Not that anything’s really dirty about the skin between my pecs.)
Oh, and my abs are coming back too. I miss the old days when I used to have canyons in my stomach. But the rivers have started running again, and the canyons will soon get recarved.
And I’d post pictures of my progress, especially an album consisting of nothing but photos of me holding each of the aforementioned items with my pecs, but the last time I had a shirtless picture on my old blog, a creepy anonymous guy commented a really heartfelt and significant blog entry (probably the millionth one about my blossoming/dying/standstill relationship with my parents) a few months later writing, “when r u goin to post more shirtless pics? sexy hehe” (though compliments are always ego boosting). I will however, post that same shirtless picture that got the creepy anonymous guy goin’ because that picture was taken when I was fifteen. Because if you think that picture is sexy, I can guilt trip you by calling you a CHILD-MOLESTING PEDO. You’re only supposed to look at the picture and know that my body is better in comparison today. Okay? Okay.
Here’s the picture. You know you want to click the link.
And since each of the past many entries have had flashbacks, I don’t wanna break the combo so here’s yet another flashback! Try to find the parallel themes/ changes/ background info/ symbols/ foreshadow/ nothing useful in this one!
---
“One Week Late with that 3-Week Progress Report”
Written November 2nd, 2005
Though I totally missed one week of working out due to homework and fooling around, I have been able to consistently keep up the workouts and high protein food. I don’t think I’ve been this motivated in a long while. :O
Weight, 4 weeks ago: 118 lbs.
Now: 125 lbs.
Bicep/Triceps, 4 weeks ago: 10.7 in (left), 11.0 in (right).
Now: 11.25 in. (left), 11.75 in. (right).
Chest, 4 weeks ago: 33 in.
Now: 35.4 in.
If I’m not measuring myself inaccurately [[which, in retrospect, I now think I was]], then YAY, improvement. However, I'm not too sure if I'm going too fast or too slow or normally. There's like less than an inch gain for each arm, but this is only the fourth week, and the third week doesn't really count for anything. But anyways, I am also going to start measuring the diameter of the areola around my nipples. I swear, they’re getting bigger too, and it’s not my imagination.
Now: 0.8 in (left), 0.9 in.
MY GOAL IS TO HAVE HALF-DOLLAR-SIZED NIPPLES.
---
I don’t think I’ve made a lot of progress with my nipples over the last four years. =(
And later in the day, I find time to work out, every week day. I am just too skinny right now. Trung thinks I have body dysmorphic disorder, a “psychological disorder in which the affected person is excessively concerned and preoccupied by a perceived defect in his or her physical features.” So if anything, it’s really just more motivation.
I’ve been eating a lot too. Four to five meals a day. I’m intent on gaining some weight, and I want to get to at least 150. When I started out, I weighed 139 pounds in the morning after waking up and taking a dump, and now I’m at 143 (in the morning after waking up and taking a dump). Things are looking good.
Compared to the rest of the workouts I’ve tried in the past, nothing is too exceptional about my current one except for that fact that two weeks is probably the longest I’ve ever been consistent. And I intend to keep going. I’ve got a few things motivating me:
I dropped sixty dollars on an eighty-serving bucket of whey protein. I had to spend all summer tranquilizing eighth graders to earn (very little) money, so I’m not going to let my sixty dollars collect dust.
And...
The following is a list of things that I can hold with my rock hard pec/breast/boob cleavage (in order of thinnest to thickest):
- .5mm lead.
- A straightened out paper clip.
- A pencil.
- A chopstick.
- A tooth brush.
- A marble (one of the bigger fat shooter ones).
I think holding one item is pretty easy, but two is definitely a lot harder. I tried shoving in two chopsticks, but my pecs can’t seem to hold onto that second one. My eventual goal is to hold three. (And yes, I do wash the chopsticks after I “use” them. Don’t freak out if I ever invite you over for pho. Though you should be careful about what pencil you pick up. Not that anything’s really dirty about the skin between my pecs.)
Oh, and my abs are coming back too. I miss the old days when I used to have canyons in my stomach. But the rivers have started running again, and the canyons will soon get recarved.
And I’d post pictures of my progress, especially an album consisting of nothing but photos of me holding each of the aforementioned items with my pecs, but the last time I had a shirtless picture on my old blog, a creepy anonymous guy commented a really heartfelt and significant blog entry (probably the millionth one about my blossoming/dying/standstill relationship with my parents) a few months later writing, “when r u goin to post more shirtless pics? sexy hehe” (though compliments are always ego boosting). I will however, post that same shirtless picture that got the creepy anonymous guy goin’ because that picture was taken when I was fifteen. Because if you think that picture is sexy, I can guilt trip you by calling you a CHILD-MOLESTING PEDO. You’re only supposed to look at the picture and know that my body is better in comparison today. Okay? Okay.
Here’s the picture. You know you want to click the link.
And since each of the past many entries have had flashbacks, I don’t wanna break the combo so here’s yet another flashback! Try to find the parallel themes/ changes/ background info/ symbols/ foreshadow/ nothing useful in this one!
---
“One Week Late with that 3-Week Progress Report”
Written November 2nd, 2005
Though I totally missed one week of working out due to homework and fooling around, I have been able to consistently keep up the workouts and high protein food. I don’t think I’ve been this motivated in a long while. :O
Weight, 4 weeks ago: 118 lbs.
Now: 125 lbs.
Bicep/Triceps, 4 weeks ago: 10.7 in (left), 11.0 in (right).
Now: 11.25 in. (left), 11.75 in. (right).
Chest, 4 weeks ago: 33 in.
Now: 35.4 in.
If I’m not measuring myself inaccurately [[which, in retrospect, I now think I was]], then YAY, improvement. However, I'm not too sure if I'm going too fast or too slow or normally. There's like less than an inch gain for each arm, but this is only the fourth week, and the third week doesn't really count for anything. But anyways, I am also going to start measuring the diameter of the areola around my nipples. I swear, they’re getting bigger too, and it’s not my imagination.
Now: 0.8 in (left), 0.9 in.
MY GOAL IS TO HAVE HALF-DOLLAR-SIZED NIPPLES.
---
I don’t think I’ve made a lot of progress with my nipples over the last four years. =(
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