Chrisonomicon

Friday, January 31, 2003

I've spent the better part of the week dedicated to a new workout routine as indited by trainers-on-paper Villepigue and Rivera, honing my armamentarium of curls and lifts and pulls and rows, and complementing my wonted weights with an additional early morning run and ab jellification routine. Of course, the plan looks prettier in theory than in practice. Each morning has found me in bed ten, fiften, even thirty minutes later than the previous, despite my attempts at turning in at a reasonable — and by reasonable I mean ungodly — hour, taking naps when appropriate, eliminating caffeine from my diet, and sacrificing virgins to Hypnos. But overlooking lack of sleep and motivation, I'm feeling ripped-the-fuck-up .

And just in time, too. (That is, if you can handle a little competition.)