The Gym, Dicks, and Praying for Death

I woke up at 4 a.m. today. This isn't uncommon, as I have a job that requires me to get up for work at 4:30 in the morning, so my body is used to it.

After sitting around on the computer for about an hour-and-a-half, I decided to make a trip to the gym, damn my weight-lifting restrictions. I'm tired of the muscle loss that has been coming along with the fat loss. My workout was going to be light-just weight lifting-two sets of eight on each muscle group. In and out in 30 minutes.

I had to cut my workout short when I had a funny feeling in my stomach. I knew it was probably my muscles protesting being used for the first time in over a week, but I wasn't taking any chances. I had worked my abs, back, chest, and upper arms, so all in all it was a pretty thorough workout. I can finish the rest tomorrow, which is just legs and forearms.

After I got home, I decided to try some scrambled eggs to see if I could handle it. I had three of them, which was a huge mistake. I was doubled-over in pain for the next hour. I really need to learn to stop eating when I'm full. I made a Facebook post saying "If you try a new food after bariartic surgery, only eat in small amounts, otherwise you will be praying for a merciful death."

One of my friends who has had bariatric surgery warned me that I'd also get bad results eating spaghetti, so I'll avoid eating that for a very long time.

On the weight loss front, I've lost 45 pounds now. Not too shabby.

(I'll ask my family to avoid reading the rest of this. Okay, mom, I fucking warned you!)

I've now lost so much body fat that I can once again see my dick when I stand up. You have no idea how awesome that is unless you've actually been so fat that your gut actually overlaps your cock.