Unlike this remarkable specimen on our left, I don't spend much time at the gym working on my abs.
Well, any time, when you get right down to it.
Yes, I know how important it is to have a strong core. I knew that years prior to watching a Pilates DVD for five minutes. (I then shelved it forever without even once getting down on the ground and exercising like the creepily smiling, steel-bellied automaton women in the video.)
See, I just hate doing abs. I mean really, really hate it. I don't mind "feeling the burn" in any other muscle group, but for some reason, feeling my stomach all tensed up and on fire makes me think I'm going to croak and puke. (Though perhaps not in that order. Hard to say.)
I have gone through phases where I do my crunches like a good boy, but somehow I always fall off the wagon.
It starts innocently enough. "Oh, look at the time! I better get home and let Hudson out and start dinner. I'll do some crunches or flutter-kicks tonight at home."
But do I? No. And within weeks, my stomach is just along for the ride when I do cardio.
Well, that has to change.
With the return of my personal trainer from his Army deployment in Iraq, I've decided it's time to get back on that damn exercise ball and do crunches until I just wish someone would shoot me in the neck.
Because here's the deal--I plan to sign up for some training sessions after Christmas. If I haven't been working on my abs for months before C. starts putting me through the wringer, I'm going to end up in a full body cast. This guy is hard core.
So yesterday I did the full the strength training regimen he designed for me three years ago. I was careful not to overdue it, so I hit all the muscle groups, but only one set of each. (I've also been skipping my legs. And lower back. For a couple years.)
Forty-five minutes later I could barely drag myself out to my car. My arms, chest, shoulders and back felt fine, but my legs were like Jello and my poor flabby tummy was NOT happy with me.
Fine, I'm not happy with it either. Steps must be taken.
I just wish that I could be put under general anesthesia for two hours a day and be forced to do crunches while making those bizarre twisting motions people do while holding a ten pound medicine ball. Is that too much to ask?
In conclusion, crunches suck.
PS. At least this meandering little rant provide a good excuse to publish more eye-candy...