Pounds of meat

This past Wednesday I weighed myself for the first time since starting my workout routine.  Ever since roughly age 16 I have always weighed between 165 and 175 pounds, never varying outside that range.  My body doesn't seem to respond to changes in diet the way most people's do.  But now I apparently weigh 184 pounds, which is about 10 pounds heavier than I was six months ago.  In my case it is clearly pure muscle gain, so it is a good rather than a troubling thing.

It is a very odd sensation.  It doesn't seem like much, and most people probably wouldn't notice, but when I try to wrap my brain around it everything makes no sense.  I imagined a hunk of ground beef, 1 pound worth, and thought about strapping 10 of those to my body.

It is preposterous!  I can't have enough flesh to make up 10 packs of meat secreted about my person!

I can see some differences, for sure, but they seem small, marginal at best.  Certainly not like 10 pounds worth.

But when it comes down to trusting measurements by instruments and my own intuition about the way my body interacts with the world, it is only sensible to trust the instruments.

When I think about all the eggs I have eaten in an attempt to add on protein I get even weirder images.  I think about my body covered in raw eggs, yolks sliding down me on a slick of egg white.  That is sort of what is happening here, eggs turning into mass.

I want to roughly triple the results I have seen so far though, which means I need to eat a whole lot more eggs.  I guess I can feel good about myself that I am providing employment for so many chickens that otherwise would have to look for public assistance or work at McDonalds or something to make ends meet.

Here's to all the eggs and pain that will go towards getting my next 20 pounds.