in which I go to the gym for the first time in weeks
I think I might have reached a/the point where I've just accepted that if I want to continue to eat Mexican food on a fairly regular basis and do not want to start every day with a two-hour retinue at the gym, that I will simply never be a size 6.
And it's not that I don't like working out. However, when I reach a certain point in every semester, I cease to have extra time in my budget to spare. Furthermore, when it is in the 30s (or lower!) in the evening and in the morning, I have a supremely difficult time wanting to pile on layer over layer and walking to the gym in the cold. This obstacle is a very unfortunate one, because quite honestly I tend to enjoy running once I get past a certain amount of initial windedness and muscle protestations. I like the feeling of my frisbee shorts flapping productively against my legs. I like the imagined urgency with which I run when certain songs come on my ipod and I imagine myself thrust into a dramatic scenario where running is necessary.
I did go to the gym yesterday evening. After I feasted on Chipotle for lunch on Thursday and then had a juicy hamburger (with bacon and chipotle mayo on it) and fries for lunch yesterday, I felt that I could not be happy with myself until I worked off--what, 350 calories of it? The math doesn't make me feel better, but I feel less gluttonous if I follow-up such meals with some amount of gym time. It is all very psychological, I grant you.
But before I pranced off to the gym in my silky frisbee shorts (no, seriously, I love Five Utimate shorts) I camped out at Teaspoons with Z to make further progress on my Adrienne Rich essay. I'm on page 19, folks! I am so close.
cardgian: JCrew, old
belt: via my mum
skirt: Megan Nielsen
tights and socks: Sock Dreams
boots: hand me down from a friend
beret: Forever21, old
shirt: American Apparel