Whittling

I've looked at all of our pictures (well, I took the ones of Michelle), and I don't think we look that bad. It's sort of like a sculptor looking at raw clay, in a way (by the hay, how was your day?). Michelle can outlift me on the weights, so I know the Greek sculpture muscle is in there. It's like Carl has to just whittle away our momma suits and find the physical sweetness underneath. Well, we're whittling while Carl works on his own Greek sculpture muscles.

I want to look like that. I want to turn heads and have even guys envious of my guns. And I really, really want the Brooke Burke/Terminator butt.

I look forward to the workouts. The endorphins are a bit of a fix for me, a fix that is going to have to replace diet Coke if I'm going to make it to the guns and the butt. Karate helps, too. I'm sore from working out with Carl and I'm sore from working out in karate. I don't think there's a spot on my body that has been missed this week. In fact, I'm working out harder in karate now that I'm working out with Carl--maybe to make up for still drinking some (not a lot of) soda.

I teach karate for four hours tomorrow. Granted, I won't necessarily be working out myself the whole time, but I should burn some good calories in there somewhere. And then it's back to Carl. I'm excited for the weigh-in on Tuesday or Monday or whatever. I don't know if I've lost Carl's goal of four pounds/week, but I'm sure I've lost some. Getting to that butt.

Whittle away, Carl, whittle away...