Yep, I’m alive.
It’s been six months since I started going to the gym, and so far I’ve been relatively happy with my progress. I became health conscious when I realized that I’d be out of breath climbing one-two flights of stairs — I didn’t want to grow old and so incapacitated.
During my first month at the gym, I could barely lift the bar/rod. Now I can bench press 100lbs, which is no biggie for fitness regulars, but it is to me. I’m also able to lift 215lbs off the ground (deadlift) although I feel like I’m about to pass out every time I do so. My pendlay rows are at a staggering (LOL) 160lbs. I can also lift 90lbs over my head (military press) — to the distraction of those around me because I couldn’t help making these moaning sounds due to the effort I have to exert, lol.
Do I enjoy going to the gym? To be honest, no. I dread every gym day. I have to talk myself into it EVERY TIME! I force myself, I motivate myself. The improvements in my performance help a bit but not enough to make me look forward to those days. Also, those endorphins really help — I find myself really perky after every workout.
I’m at a stage wherein I’m not watching my food intake yet because I need more bulking up. (Although I’ve almost eliminated sodas, sweetened iced teas and french fries from my diet, except for the occasional once a week lapses.) It is my dream that someday I will be able to give up fried chicken skin — but KFC and its gravy is making it so darn hard.
This entry is an attempt for me to see if I can still blog. Twitter is the culprit — it’s way easier to cram everything into 140 characters.
And no, I won’t post shirtless pics unless I’m at the beach 😛 (Exception: perhaps when I’m already sporting a basket of pandesal then I’d walk around shirtless in Greenbelt, lol.)