weight lifting

I've been busy these past few months. Busy putting out the two biggest issues of the year for the magazine. Busy working on my largest freelance project to date. Busy dealing with migraines. Busy busy busy. And then, all at once, I wasn't. The weights lifted. And I didn't quite know what to do with myself.

And I also started weightlifting. The Kansas City Corporate Challenge is coming up in May, and I get to be the mandatory, token female on my work's three-person weightlifting team. My goal is modest. I'd like to be able to lift 100 pounds. Right now, I can lift 85 pounds. I wasn't put on the team because of my amazing strength, mind you. I was put on the team because I said I'd do it if no other females signed up. But still, I'd be proud of myself if I could reach 100.

When I was at the mall today, I couldn't help but try on a few swimsuits. They had those Miraclesuits that promise to make you look 10 pounds lighter. And they do, to a degree. The problem is that if the top of you looks smaller, then your thighs look absolutely mammoth beneath to your 10-pound lighter torso. Seriously, I looked down at my thighs and thought that it must be a trick mirror. Those must have been the thighs of the woman on the other side of the stall in the changing room. And again the repeat offenders showed up: my too-big boobs and my nonexistent butt. I really hate shopping sometimes.

But the weight of time presses on me. I only have a few more days before I leave for Vegas. I need to somehow cobble together professional outfits that are still comfortable. My booth visits in the four massive exhibit halls is the most physically demanding part of my job. And this is when they expect me to wear dress shoes? Last year, I lost feeling in the tip of my big toe for two months after the conference. A good, new pair of black shoes is at the top of my shopping list.