I caught myself saying that annoying thing the other day.

“I wish I had a tighter tummy…”

Not out loud – mind you. Can’t let my entourage that doesn’t exist think for even a second that my self-confidence is wavering whatsoever. Rather, it was one of those annoying self-talk things that speaks to you in such a subconscious whisper that it makes your brow furrow in discontent and your breathing change slightly until you dunno WTF the crisis of identity induced panic attack that ensues next came from. So, my other-self caught my self marinating in this douchery and spoke up with its freshly manicured pointer finger waving in perfect synchronicity with its oh-no-you-di’nt horizontal head-bob.

Naturally, a whole internal debate transpired betwixt my pinnae.

“Bish, no you don’t. Not enough anyway.”
“What do you mean? Everyone wants a nice set of abs.”
“Yeah, but if they want it enough, they’d make time for it and get it.”
“But I already run for an hour, do 50 squats, 30 single leg squats, arms, triceps, an-…”
“YES. But did you die?”


No. The answer is no. I don’t die on a daily basis doing this shiz.

Contrarily, I come away feeling good.

And as for “ain’t nobody got time fa dat” argument? When I do it, it actually takes up such a minute increment of my own same-24-hours-everyone-else-gets that it’s almost more taxing to plan, recall, or list everything I do in a day’s workout than it is to actually do it. If you’ve never intentionally sweated a day in your life and thus have no context, you can liken it to how much faster the days go than you think they will when you’re flipping through the pages of the calendar thinking, “I don’t get to give this suck town the finger and jetset to Hawaii till June?” It’s the old “watched pot” thing and all’a that.

So, why not add one more daily toning ritual to get ripped? If that’s what you “really want”? Especially when it doesn’t even take a sixth of an hour to do? Then, like my rhetorical prayer was being answered by the sadistic corner of the Cosmos, I got an invite from a friend to do a “21 day ab challenge”. “Why not?” My voiceless inner psychopath cruelly mimicked in reply, with fire in its deviant smiling eyes. So I started. And now that week two’s here, I kinda am starting to dig it.


(Believe it or not, my protracted-neck bad plank form was at least 100% less good a year ago.)

The old familiar feeling I used to get doing crunches is coming back. But it’s amazing how that “feeling” has transformed in but 7 days (even if the only transformation my actual tummy’s having is the burn “feeling” so far). Where it initially was one of flaming hatred the moment I fired up the video to watch – this week, it’s more like that feeling I get when I open the fridge after grocery shopping day and see a rainbow array of produce smiling back at me. I look forward to it. Yesterday (pic above) I looked forward to it so much that I saved it for last; a blubber burning dessert I had to precede with three workouts before tucking into – like some masochistic addict.

Because, really, it’s like any other body work I bother doing. So I’m not entirely sure why I put off core targeting for so long – but I think maybe it’s because I don’t know that many types of exercises and I kinda hate the way trainers (recorded or not) motivate you. The guy on this 21 day ab challenge is a prime example. I mean, he’s great and all. But when I’m doing endless reps of squats or anything else that accompanies discomfort, I prefer to just stay in a state of awareness, breathe through it, and focus on the lactic acid inducing task at hand. That whole “Keep going! Don’t give up now! Five more minutes!” thing is supremely annoying and anti-inspiration for my perspiration. I mean, just that phrase – “Five more minutes” is an auditory holocaust. When can that ever mean anything good? If I’m in bed or getting a massage and I hear, “FIVE MORE MINUTES”, then it means the good thing is almost over. If I’m in the middle of an abdominal annihilating routine from Youtube, it means the good thing (stopping) won’t come until “FIVE MORE MINUTES!”. Jesus, I thought it was more like 30 seconds. Are we in a black hole? Where time turns into treacle? Either way, I’m dreading the future – either how much more misery it holds before comfort ensues, or the misery of comfort’s conclusion. So why think about it? I’d much rather just accept what’s happening now with full focus stoicism and have you just tell me that it’s over when it’s over.

That way, I never have to make the Asian hemorrhoid face.

Now, you might think that I’m talking myself out of keeping on this challenge. I’m not.

But I have begun muting his tight ass.

Which is nice, ’cause like most of the lovely ladies out there, he’s cuter when he’s quiet and not yelling at me.

(And as we’ve seen, my inner angel/demon duo do enough of that to me as it is.)