Google Fit tells me I burned 2198 calories today, ~500 of them walking 6.54 miles in 17,547 steps, not counting the steps I took not carrying the cell phone around, such as ~240 calories pedaling determinedly to nowhere and whatever calories "strength training" burns. I don't think today's caloric intake will exceed 2500 calories, so going by the numbers I might have lost a few grams. Indeed the scale in the men's locker room says my weight's decreased two pounds in the past couple weeks, surely largely because of the dogs' increased need to march me around (Nina in particular seems to have goal of 1.5 miles a day); I'm trying to eat a little less but in that respect my self-discipline will probably always be remiss. ('I have to walk a lot: you've seen me eat.') I might yet make my goal of getting down to 155# by Xmas. (It's ony 3 more lbs., why not be optimistic?)
As to my other physical goals, it seems I'm doomed by inexorable heredity and by age-diminished androgens to never quite "turning into the Hulk," as my baby sister puts it. For one thing my biceps just don't want to get much bigger: I do get stronger but it doesn't look like it, and it's taken 2 years to go from 40# barbell curls to 60# without much pain. (One reason I don't get BDSM: pain is for people I don't like, which naturally rules out me and anybody I put up with more than strictly necessary for my survival.) And I'm still frustrated that my bust ain't increasing enough, though some progress is visible there; yet posted photographs show my upper back develops okay and my shoulders seem a little broader. I should have started this shit like 40 years earlier. But still, for a guy my age in my neighborhood I'm in half-decent shape, like they haven't told me I'm diabetic yet. I'm considering doing a month or so of more intensive body building before too long if my budget allows for buying creatine -- it's usually more fun to buy better liquor -- and, assuming I keep my visceral fat in check, I plan on wiling away part of the depth of winter working on "details" like my abdomen, calves, and gluteals. (Every middle-aged pervert should have a nice firm booty.) I'd rather increasing senescence not involve excessive debilitation, at least. At least not physically.
As for everything else, what is there to say? I hesitate to publicly post my senile sexual fantasies (though those who are interested know how to reach me), and I doubt anybody will really care that this week's reading concerns how the Nazi-Soviet pact of 1939 played out. (Till Hitler made his worst miscalculation, if Hitler can ever be said to have calculated anything.) There just ain't much about my life that strikes me as anything anybody should give a damn about. Let's face it, I'm boring. Very few people have it in them to care whether I live or die, let alone what's passing through my damaged little brain at any given time. Those few things that happen during my day that aren't (AFAIK) illegal get posted to Facebook, along with whatever my view of whatever current events have been happening happen to be, and the only people I really fear rejection by are those who keep dogs for me to befriend and exercise with. What more can there be? I've got no money for anybody to scheme over, I can't imagine anybody woud ever want to see my senile self naked let alone take advantage of it, and my mindset is still so far beyond the pale that whether I can be a person like other people will always be an open question. (I think of myself as a freak from outer space, and I'm naturally charitable even to myself.)
As for me in general, well, at least I'm no longer old, ugly, crazy, boring, poor, *and fat*. So bite me.
