Remember how a few weeks back I wrote about going for a run and how I hoped to run 30 miles by the time I was 30? Well, I failed miserably. To be honest, I never hit the track again.
I could give a million excuses, but most come back to the fact that I just don’t like feeling like I’m going to die and could think of a ton of better ways to pleasurably torture myself. Plus, I’m okay with my cardio being shot. I’ve accepted it. If I ever have to run from an angry mob or my neighbor’s mentally retarded pit bull I will simply lie down and accept death.
This is not to say I’ve given up on my body though. Nope, I have a new plan. It involves a gym membership and possible breast implants.
About a week ago, I joined Muscle Factory over in Wailuku (love it!) and have actually gone more than once. Tragically, I feel like I’ve been beaten repetitively over my entire body with a small, pointy hammer. But I think that means it’s working.
I decided to be honest with the folks at the gym. On day one, I walked up to the counter and said, “I don’t give a flying monkey bum about cardio. I want a big butt. How do I get a big butt?!”
After the woman behind the counter practically shot her energy drink out of her nostrils, I was shown a few simple, highly effective butt shaping exercises that make you want to die. Considering the way my rear feels today though, they work.
One summer as a preteen, I was really into weight lifting. I got the book Hard Bodies by Gladys Portuguese (Jean Claude Van Damme’s hot ex wife) and worked out religiously. This was way before I ever had enough pennies saved up for a gym membership, so I just used free weights and a bench. I got pretty buff, if I do say so myself. I want to get there again.
The whole thing is that if I’m going to put the effort into going to the gym and working out, I want to see results. I don’t want no measly toning action going on. I want guns!This concerns my husband.
“I’m all about heavier weights and fewer reps,” I said to the hubby on the way home from work the other day. “I think that’s how you build mass.”
“Mass?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know. So I can get big.”
“Big?” he asked while his voice went up an octave.
We went back and forth on building muscle versus toning. He’s a fan of women who tone. The discussion finally came to an end when I yelled, “Toning is for pussies!” Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. And I don’t necessarily think it’s true. But then again, I kind of do.
The sad thing is that even though my body feels a lot stronger, it fricking looks the same. I know, I’ve only been to the gym twice. But I want results. I want them now! Realistically, I know that it takes time and that I need to be dedicated to the process of a body transformation.
But I like immediate, visible results.
That’s where the crazy idea of the boob job comes in. I go to sleep with Kate Hudson boobs and wake up looking like Halle Berry. Magical!
Don’t get me wrong, there’s a 99 percent chance that I’ll never go under the knife and I’ll continue to rock the A cup and rock it well, but I’m just saying. I don’t know what I’m saying.
Forgive me. The lactic acid buildup is getting to my brain.
And it hurts.
Starr Begley would like to request a moment of silence for all the dead wrestlers like (to name a few) Davey Boy Smith, Andre the Giant, Don Morocco, Mr. Perfect, Owen Hart, Rick Rude and the Lovely Miss Elizabeth. MTW