"GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!"
I had seen a trusted friend do this once, long ago. Yell at the fat on your belly. Today I stood in the yard and yelled at a mass of extra weight attached to my midsection. It got there by itself. Somehow, it took advantage of these times I have spent accompanying Preggy in her newly-enhanced feeding schedule, as an act of solidarity.
The stuff did not come off. Maybe it needs louder. I tried louder. The neighbor came out. I went in.
High volume encouragement does not reduce fat. Back then, it did not work for Armando either. But I had long suspected that his failure was due to his state of inebriation and the unforgiveable hour at which he decided to embark upon that vanguardist aesthetic procedure. Mine was a paradigm of scientific rigor: midday in the suburbs, with nothing more than 6 cups of old coffee in the system, and a three-year old chiming in, belatedly cheering in tandem. Two guys hollering at their lower abdominal areas. Crom must nod sagely at the preparations.
No.
So I looked around at stuff to do in the way of workout and exercise and ended up watching drummers. It is logical. One of them happened to promote a gym! The search tactic was an obvious success. "Crossfit" is the organization. I can get back in shape!
So now, I looked them up and there is a chapter in New Jersey. The members of Crossfit New Jersey share a common motivation. It is to achieve the ejection of one's lower spine from the body, through the wall behind you as the climax of a given procedure.
I think I will get past my Physical Therapy Beginners' hip thrusts first. And air drum. Lots of air drumming.
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