Every muscle in my body aches. You think I’m exaggerating, doncha? Well, check this out.
Hamstrings? ache. Gluts? ache. Gluteus maximus? aches. Trapezoids? ache. Deltoids? ache. Abs? ache. Other miscellaneous muscles that I can’t identify because I didn’t take anatomy? They ache.
When I say every muscle, believe me, I do mean every muscle. Honestly–I didn’t know my butt cheeks could ache like this.
And when I say ache, believe me, I do mean ache. Let’s just say that while the copier was running, I plopped myself down shamelessly on the floor in the copier room to do some stretches. Helped. For a few minutes, at least. While I was passing out copies, I was able to walk with a degree of flexibility. Of course, now I’m sitting down again, so the stiffness will recur. So at any given moment, anyone could walk into my office today and find me back on the floor doing stretches.
So I shed a few tears this morning when I got on the scale and found that it was up .6 pound. Logically I know that (a) I’ve been stressed; and (b) muscle weighs more than fat. And I’ve been building muscle. I have been doing a titch of stress eating, but even with that it hasn’t been that bad. Probably if I hadn’t been doing the degree of activity I’ve been doing, I’d be losing. So when I go for my official WW weigh-in tomorrow morning, it may show a gain. But THE SCALE LIES!! because all the scale measures is pounds avoirdupois. It doesn’t measure my fat lost. It doesn’t measure my muscle tone gained. It doesn’t measure my blood pressure (117/70, thank you very much). It doesn’t measure the improvement in my lipids panel (I’m going for a physical next Friday, so I’ll have those results shortly). So I’ve got to quit attaching so much importance to the scale.
When I took my shower this morning I was admiring the increased muscle definition in my calves. I’ve got damn good legs, even if they are far fatter than I want them to be. Damn good legs. I’m just sayin’.
So I have my costume almost entirely figured out for the play. I’m going to wear my black and silver and white New York tee (it shows the NYC skyline pre 9/11, so the Twin Towers are proudly standing erect over my left breast) over a black skirt. The skirt is almost ankle-length, two layers of sheer fabric, but it’s very easy to move in. I’ll wear footless tights, probably, and they may be black or they may be fuschia or they may be lime green or they may be purple. I don’t know yet. And I’m not sure what will be on my feet. Maybe I’ll be barefoot. Maybe I’ll wear ballet shoes. Maybe I’ll wear high-top purple Converse. I dunno yet. And I’m going to wear hot pink panties. No one will see them, obviously, but I’ll know they’re there. And that’s what’s important. My hair will have lots of rainbow colors painted on the ends. And the makeup will be most excellently cool.
We’re having a makeup rehearsal on Tuesday night, and we’re taking the first batch of photos on Sunday 3/4. If I can, I’ll post something here so you can see how cool (freaky) I look. ‘K?
All right. What else can I rattle on about? I seem destined to throw people on their asses during rehearsal. On Wednesday night, during a game of musical chairs, I was so caught up in what I was doing that I pulled the chair out from under someone and she fell, quite hard, on her ass. Then last night someone else was spinning me around with a yoga strap, and I accidentally let go, and she landed on her ass. So I’m just wondering who I’m going to get next week.
It’s also really cool to realize that words don’t have to mean what they say. I’m a certifiable verbivore, so for me, that’s saying something. Last night, in light of the horrible day I had, I did lose it at one point during rehearsal. But I had a 3-person blanket of love, and the words they were saying (“no bath water”) really meant all kinds of different things. They meant, “We love you,” “You can do it,” “It’s going to be all right,” “Breathe,” and more things like that. I felt, and feel, very loved and accepted. I like feeling that way.