So, funny story. About a week ago I decided to start taking Hydroxycut. I made the decision to take this course of action after buying pants in the size that I always wear (30x32) for a wedding, only to actually try them on and find that they were 9078 sizes too small. Obviously, my ego took a big hit from this. In any case, I have a shitton of friends who take energy supplements and the such so I figured why not.
After I took it for the first time I pretty much proclaimed it to be my personal Jesus. I literally could not remember the last time I had such unbridled energy. I felt like I could accomplish anything. The only issue is that while you take HydC., as I will henceforth refer to it since I am far too lazy to type out the whole thing, you're expected to also diet and exercise. Now the diet part I've been keeping up with for the most part. Since it involves a lack of doing something I excel at it, actually. The exercise part, however, is another story. In the week that I've been on this miracle pill that makes me feel like Superman I still haven't exercised. Until yesterday, that is.
After pissing about on the internet for awhile, and not really knowing what else I wanted to do, I decided to finally make an effort it my weight loss plan. So I jumped right in (huge mistake) and started doing curls with the barbell that's been sitting on my bedroom floor for the last six years, since the first time I was overweight and decided I needed to actually *cringe* work out. This is easy, I thought to myself. At this point I still felt no pain.
The last time I really, like, worked out was before my senior prom, after which I completely lost all interest in it for whatever reason. I was always confused because it wasn't like I was doing it to fit into my tux. But whatev. So yesterday, after what felt like 24 years of working my delts, biceps, and triceps, I figured I was good. I had a nagging feeling that I would regret my hasty decision to act like Iron Man. Right I was. When I woke up this morning I discovered that almost everyway I can move my arms is painful. This means that even the smallest tasks, like masturbating or bringing a cigarette to my mouth to inhale its sweet death, carry with them such angst that I don't even feel like doing them. And those? Are two of my all-time favorite things.
In any case, I'm trying not to let this discourage me. I'm not sure which I dislike more, though: pants not fitting or me not being able to inhale fiberglass...