Owie Owie Ow Ow Ow

That is the sound my man-boobies are making right now in response to the aforementioned full-length non-getting-back-in-the-groove type lift. It seems my ingenius plan of avoiding crippling soreness by easing into the routine with several sessions of low-weight high-rep workouts was in fact a stupid jerk. Or maybe I'd be even more sore had I not done it this way, I find debilitating soreness is kind of like a hangover in that you never truly recall how miserable it is until you're living it. All in all it went okay though--I lost about 60lbs off my bench but that is to be expected from 2+ years of complete inactivity.

Lizett and I are starting a running program today in an effort to temper our rippling hugeness with sensual tautness. We're doing an interval program working up to 5k thrice a week which involves comically little running for the first several weeks. This is very good for me, because being a skinny guy with long legs I feel that I should be good at running, so every time I start up I go full out and completely destroy my weak womanly shins, then inevitably lose interest in running during the following weeks of pained recovery.

In an effort to temper our sensual tautness with lumpy corpulence, we did make that cake last night, and we ate it right before bed. It was supachocolaty.