Gym’s, Gerry’s and the petri dish of life

Going to my gym is like experiencing a cornucopia of life. A mixture of people, sizes and persuasions along with contradictions and for me, curiosity.

kroc center

Who gets a gym that looks like it belongs in Aspen? Me and 14,000 other people, that’s who

Maybe it’s because this place is a multi-purpose center as opposed to a strictly iron and class oriented gym. This place is rock climbing and swimming, theatre and basketball courts. I’m sure there is more, but my curiosity taps out where the day care center stops. It starts back up as I approach mile three on thick rubber bottom-treadmill and the sweat is dripping in my, blurring the letters on my Kindle. My mind starts to wander and I look around. Out of my left eye, I spy an older man two treadmills down about 5’7 who has a crunched right hand. At first I only sense this, because he’s having extraordinary difficulty pushing the buttons. In front of me is a younger couple that are engaged in the type of back and forth that only occurs in the dating phase. Married couples, FYI, go separate directions, or if they stay together, move with military-style precision. They are here to get things done, not flirt.

I move on from the young couple. They are boring me and honestly, if I have to watch people flirt on the treadmill, my only recourse is to give myself more pain as a distraction.

Downstairs, over the railing, I see a late-twenties man rolling his wheelchair. He works here. Once I overhead him talking to a group of elderly patrons. He said a snowboarding accident left him in his present state. He wheels everywhere with vigor, being much more helpful to the senior citizens who occupy this place than I would normally expect a late-twenties employee to be. (Nothing against late twenties, mind you. It’s just that a person who is half the height of a granny tends to be a) non-threatening, b) interested in what life’s lessons are all about and c) funny. If you have lost the use of your legs, along the path, I believe a decision is made whether or not to become bitter. And if that’s not the choice, happiness usually is. Have you ever noticed how happy disabled people are? It’s like it was a blessing. But I digress.)

Then comes the group of big, bald and…(no, not bloaty, I know you thought I was going there), but hard. How can that be? You ask. I can answer because in my alter life, I am the quizat haderachk. These men are mostly forties to sixties, and own their bigness and baldness. As I ramp up my treadmill to 7% and then 11%, I’m in awe of how these men own it. Actually, I have to give credit to my friend from LA, Mark S., a snowboarding, surfing CEO of not one but two companies (he’s single, but has attachment issues, sorry ladies). In any case, he will look at you when you completely err (e.g. fart in a closed-windowed car) and say “Claim it, bro.”

These men, I watch them and then claim it. Claim their bigness that is so big, their tummies is one, enormous round entity that stretches the t-shirt like a balloon ready to go into the stratosphere. They strut. They laugh. They do the man-bro hug and pat each other’s back twice with a bap-bap. I must say, I applaud it. They are so full of confidence it almost makes them appealing. Almost.

Then we have another group of Gerries (what I call older women, Gerries—with a j–) is short for geriatric. Rog thinks it’s insulting but in my posse of grandmas who I hang with (thing church and service-based activities), a Gerry is really an affectionate term, one of endearment. (e.g. oh that Gerry si so cute driving her scooter, oh, that’s a hot Gerry, she’s working that lace skirt).

In any case, these place has the female equivalent of the balding, big men. They are the not-so-well preserved women who are trying really, REALLY, hard. (yes, I shouted, but more of a nice emphasis cuz I like these women). This area, in Northern Idaho, isn’t about pretense, plastic surgery or make-up. When I’m talking try hard, I’m referring to a completely different try, one that requires my complete respect and more than a little bit of awe.

To wit (invoking my high school English lit class), one woman in her late sixties, her face an unfolded piece of parchment paper that attests to her a lifetime in the northern Idaho sun, has poured her skinny self into a pair of stretchy leggings and a skin tight halter top. Rock climbing shoes without sock are the only other piece of clothing she puts on before scrambling her little superhero butt into the harness. She shimmies up the rock wall, putting the out of shape fourteen year-old male’s to shame.

That girl has claimed it. Dang. I look around wanting to claim something of my own.

As I get off the stationary walking apparatus of pain, I head directly to the weight section. There I run into a wall of Gerries who have commandeered the machines, many with their personal trainer (compliments of the center). They have their small white pieces of paper, attached to a clipboard and their minder. (I’m borrowing that from the Scientologists. I like it. It fits. I hope I don’t get sued. If the government of the US doesn’t have the funds or gumption to sue the Scientologists, I’m pretty sure I don’t). In any case, the minder keeps tabs on very push and press, pull and dip. Nary a sweat drop in sight, but I tell you what I do see. A lot of looking around. Gazing—at the opposite sex!

I ponder this as I continue into the free weight section where I’m in the company of only one other woman (who is definitely not a Gerry) and a whole lot of maleness under thirty. I’m okay with this, but as I mention to my husband later than evening, I’m confused as to what to do and how to be. My natural, nice, talkative self creates the impression that I want to talk, instead of working out, and that my talking is a forward to getting into bed. So after realizing I was creating a legion of potential stalkers who would follow me around from bench to pole, I tried the other approach. I stared straight ahead, barely making eye contact, and only doing so when I needed to verify bench or item was available. I’m terribly conflicted about this, because I think avoiding someone’s gaze is rude and I run this risk of thinking I’m all that (which, if you saw me at the gym, would know I’m very little of all that).

I’m reminded of what Rog told me earlier in the week. “Who cares if they look or talk to you? Why are you even thinking about this? Enjoy a younger man talking to you. It’s not going to last forever.”

What the…? Laughing while foreseeing my old-age Gerry-ness coming into play, I continue working out, trying to find a balance between being focused and polite but distant and not-b—chy. The good news is I have better things to focus on, like the man who has been burned on half of his body, and the woman plastered with so many tattoos I can barely see the skin. She doesn’t look very happy but has an amazing body. This then makes me wonder if I have to be grumpy and focused to have a great body.

Closing the locker on my things, I wipe some sweat off and head out. The meanderings of my time at the gym. I came. I exercised. I pondered. I realized I don’t know half of what I need to be wise, but if the Gerry’s around me are any example, I’m going to have a lot of time to figure it out.

The Ibiza-tone Butt: yours in five floor exercises

As much as I tried to avoid looking at the ad that seemed to jump off the screen, I couldn’t help but glance at this perfectly shaped derrier in a bathing suit only legal in the southern hemisphere. I was rather happy to note that Jane Fonda was indeed, right 20 years ago, for she ushered in the age of the “butt-up,” now more commonly known as a ‘bridge.’ I’ve been doing them for years, with varying degrees of concentration. For the beginner who doesn’t want to spend money lift up his or her fanny in front of a bunch of skinny strangers, do this in front of the tv, or in your room, hotel or even bathroom floor. These are fast, (not-so-easy) and that’s why they are effective.

Start on your back, legs bent, hands under lower back. Each set should be a maximum  of 25 reps. start lower if you need to. (see photo)

Full set= 25 of each of the following (these are ALL referred to as Bridge movements. The most basic of movements- and all you need to get started).

You can put your hands under your butt
if you have a weak lower back.
  1. First movement– knees spread apart (along with feet)- so knees stay apart as you lift up
  2. Second movement– draw knees together, and lift up (adds a compression to the
  3. Third movement-keep knees together (remember your heals are apart), and then you lift your butt up and down
  4. Fourth movement-keep your butt up (continually) and spread your legs apart (slightly relax butt @25%) and then lift up and squeeze as you draw your butt together)
  5. Final movement– draw feet together, and lift butt up and down.

You might not be able to do 25 reps of any of the above the first time through, or maybe even the first week. Start out with fewer reps, but still try and do 3 sets. You will work up to the full amount.

If you do this every day, you will realize HUGE results in three areas.

  1. Your butt of course- the cellulite will go down. It will also tighten and have a “lift” that is so commonly envied.
  2. The place right below your butt- the skin that perhaps is now invisible because your butt is drooping
  3. Your hips–when you lift your pelvic nice and high, the skin around your hip bones is stretched, thereby tightening this hard-to-get to place.

Calorie estimation if you are tracking via myfitnesspal.com? Use 83 calories for 10 minutes of vigorous exercise. Half of that if you have only done 5 minutes.

Jogging Zombies: the runner’s face

Once upon a time, back when I indulged in facials and eyebrow waxing on a more regular, and necessary basis (or in other words, when this Swede was an appropriately hair free gorilla), the aesthetician wouldn’t stop talking.

I’d hate to be this woman. she posted her
pic under the caption runner’s face–and not in
a good way. At least she’s happy. she’ll prob
outlive us all.

“And you see these women with runner’s face and they are so hard to wax,” she was saying, talking rapid fire as she applied hot wax to my face with a titanium spatula. “The crevices are so de
ep it’s hard to get the wax in and the hair out, and the skin!” she moaned, removing the spatula off my own skin and applying the thin cotton strip, pressing down with her bony fingertips. “It’s so thin it’s like a grandmother!” Then she unceremoniously ripped off the cotton, and with it, my furry face.

I was thinking about this today, because in the fifteen minutes of sunshine we had in the “great northwest,” I thought, if I didn’t have my cast, I’d be tempted to be out there. But before I could feel the regret of not running, I thought back to what my aesthetician said as I rubbed my cheek to make sure I still had an epidural layer. I told her I’d never heard of Runners Face before.

“In the beauty industry, that’s what we call it,” she explained. “We can always tell if a client is a runner or not, man or woman. The face is where most collagen resides, and it’s the first place the collagen leaves.” She went on to tell me that once it’s gone, the only way it will return is if the person, male or female, is under 35. “After that, it’s all over.” Note to self: don’t get all emotional with this person. She was a little short on compassion.

A few months later, I paid a visit to my own doctor and asked her about Runners Face. She confirmed earlier reports. “Collagen dramatically decreases after 35. That’s why you see so many women getting fillers. These are unnatural replacements for what nature gave you.”
There I was, smack-dab in the middle of a moral dilemma (name the movie). To run, or not to run, that is the question. It is great for the heart, but bad for the knees and ankles, unless you read and adopt Chi Running, which counter acts both. Now this? Yikes. Running can’t get a break. Speed walking however, may be getting a boost here in the next while, at least in Maple Valley.
 
Movie: Gone in 60 seconds, when the detective is talking to Raines.

Shedding the Winter Muffin Top

Tips from Mr Universe runner-up
that we can all live by

Spring always inspires me. I want to rake and trim, eat healthy and start shopping for sexy, springtime clothes. This is circular, because I can’t actually always fit in existing clothes, and if I’m going to justify spending money on new clothes, well, I better look decent.

Invariably, I replay what a former trainer told me (A 3-time, 2nd and 3rd Mr Universe runner-up). He was big, black, built and bald.

“You’re not just eating the wrong foods,” he told me. “You are eating the wrong foods at the wrong time). He emphasized I required more protein, less carbs and most importantly, I needed to stop at 5 instead of starting at 8 pm. “Eat every two hours, no matter what, and eat your protein first.” He also said one other thing.

“Cardio two times a day until your body fails you,” without waiting to see if I understood him. “And that goes for weights, which you’ll do three times a week.”

At this, I protested. I was going to bulk up and turn my fat in to mass. He smiled, obviously hearing this before.

“Big thighs,” he said. “The worry of all women.” At that, the fine looking man said no more and took me for a tour of the place. Walking among these humongous men of color, I was one of two white people in the entire joint. I felt odd, out of place and frankly, ghostly in my white fatness. Sensing my discomfort, my newly-annointed trainer turned to me and muttered something like “you get points for showing up at 5 am.” I stood a little taller at that, I’ll admit. My big, bloaty butt wanted to me in bed.

We made our way to a row of women on the treadmill and other cardio. He asked a random sampling if he’d told them what he told me (repeating) and then asked “what happened?”

“I leaned out,” said one. “Lost three dress sizes,” said another.

“See?” he asked me. “You have to eat more, all the time and push until failure.”

Ahh. The point of the article. Whether it’s JK Rowling giving her famous Harvard commencement speech, or Mr Universe Runner up, the point is to push the mind and body to the point of failure. Then, and only then will you know you’ve made progress.

Yesterday, as I lifted the weights above my head (for I am still forbidden to walk on my bad leg, so am consigned to doing upper body only as my lower body goes suffers through physical therapy), I recall Mr. Universe runner-up. I push…I grimace…all the while consoled by the fact that tomorrow, my arms will thank me. So I continue, proceeding to push myself to the point where my arms collapse, literally failing to assist me any longer in the exercise.

With that, I stop. I have succeeded in my attempt to fail, and that’s what I wanted in the first place.

Pushing through failure: gettng back up

It’s not cool to say, but I’ve been riding a wave of tears the past few hours. These are not the sobby, in-your-face-crying-in-desperation. No. These are the, I-am-so-pissed-off tears that come with not achieving a goal. I wanted $2M. I got $1.5 in cash and the rest financed. I wanted more, but I got more than enough to achieve our movie-making goals. Still, I was pissed. That’s what us type-A stubborn Swedes do. We get angry, and then guess what, we refocus.

My Dad told me the other day I’m more Danish
than Swede. In one fell swoop, he’s ruined
my identity. Do Danes make pancakes?
And what the H**l is Dad doing telling
me now, after all the blogs I’ve written about
my dominant Swedish site. I’m going to have
a crisis.

I hit the gym. I went to hot yoga and sweated off a few pounds. Then I went running. Ultimately, I skiied on crappy snow (which is really the bottom of my pitiful barrel). To no avail. My producer, who is really like the CEO of a company and I’m more like the business development/finance person who brings in the money to create the next product, brought up the next few films, and mistakenly thought I’d given up helping him fund future movies.

“Stubborn Swedes don’t quit,” I assured him in an email. “We just refocus.” I then went on to craft more emails, told my producer I was going to launch off anew, and today, Monday, I did it.

Swedes. We don’t quit, we refocus.

PS. you can become an adopted Swede in spirit. We make kick-ass Swedish pancakes.

Outer thigh be gone

Lei, (the doctor/Maxim fitness model), my trainer (boy, I feel so chi-chi using that title, and that’s what she tells me she is, but really, she’ s an awesome person who kicks my fanny when I do see her, but because I’m not diligent about seeing her more than 2x a month, I really think she’s a motivational consultant who spends half the time just verbally whipping me into shape), got me on the treadmill, raised the inclined to 3% and the pace to 3MPH. Then she turned me sideways and had me vary my movement from a shuffle, wherein my knees were bent, to a more straight-legged approach. The former (bent knees), worked my calves and thighs, while the straighter-knee approach burned up my outer thighs and saddle-bag area. 1 minute, each side, then walk forward 2 minutes. Repeat this five times and you will be begging to stop. After a while though (and you should do this every day if you want fast results, every other day for maintenance), you can vary both incline (she has me up to 7% now) and speed (slower speed/higher incline and the reverse).
Strong leg muscles

Now, if you get bored with this, use the 7-day treadmill weight loss plan from Fitness Mag. It burns 2,000 calories a time (which is more than most of us should eat in a day, thereby almost guaranteeing success). And if you’re really feeling the need to push it for the last days of summer (well, we still have 2 more months), here is the mother-of-all leg exercises for sexy legs.

Best mobile yoga apps

Yoga on the beach- romantic and realistic?
If no one is around and I’m all alone, perhaps

Any yogi wants to find the name of a good yoga joint, wherever and whenever the desire to stretch and sweat occurs. Since I’m getting ready to embark on quite a bit of travel, I did some reading up on the best apps.

The first one I found was thanks to Yoga Journal’s FindYoga application. It just became available for the iphone (it’s free), and what I like about the app is that it includes the studios, but also trainings, the retreats and a lot more, like videos that includes the poses. I’ve found this helpful for when I’ve missed a class time, don’t have a rental car or can’t get a taxi (and in some cases, it’s just not that safe for a woman to go out at night, wandering around with a modicum of clothes and a mat. That’s just screaming for problems). In any case, I also like the tips on the styles. For as many years as I’ve been doing yoga, I’m an admitted creature of habit. I rarely venture beyond what I know, because I want a guaranteed outcome. It’s like going to McDonald’s or the Mormon church. I can go anywhere in the world, and I know exactly what I’m going to get, whether I like it or not. Another thing that’s cool about the app is the 15 unique practice sessions, which mix things up if I’m in a hotel room, or on a friend’s veranda, overlooking the water.

A few years ago, when I made a query on the topic of best iphone yoga applications, a blog came up from 2010 by Regis Chapman. Chapman gave a comprehensive list of all sorts of applications– far better than I could think of doing. He listed 60, and what I really like about this list is that it’s different from the FindYoga studios; these are true applications you personal use. The trends seems to be that relaxing and stretching applications are free, and the sessions run from .99 cents (US) to $9.99 (US) for multiple sessions.

Yoga.com’s application listing offers a simple yoga application for nearly every phone, but I haven’t used any of them, and the list doesn’t offer user reviews. Still, if you under a time crunch and want something now, this certainly can’t lead you astray.

 

Getting that Maxim Body

On Father’s Day, we attending a bbq with some relatively new friends when the conversation turned to exercising. Roger did as a good husband does, he boasted about me.

“She’s been getting up at 5:20 to attend the 6 am hot power yoga classes.” I demurred, identifying it was practically killing me, all the while secretly pleased he was talking me up. It’s been years after all, and I am, in fact, happy to be back on the exercise train.
My glory was short-lived. Not to be outdone, the man says his wife gets up at 4:20 to hit the gym at 5, working out 3 hours, 6 days a week. 
Rog and I had a mutual look of shock and awe. That was crazy talk.
“What do you do for three hours?”
Before the woman could answer, the man jumps in. 
Get those MAXIM legs
“She does the MAXIM workout?” I’ve never heard of such a thing, and I consider myself relatively well-informed. I looked at her for more clarification. After all, she’s my age (on the cusp of 44), we both have at least one child in college and another in elementary school. Sure, she’s two sizes smaller than me, but I’d rather have my bubble butt than no butt. Still, like the monk on a hill in Tibet, I seek the knowledge.
“He’s not kidding. It really is the MAXIM workout.” She then proceeds to tell me that her good friend is a MAXIM model, and every week, the editorial team sends her an email that tells her exactly what she must do for 3 hours a day, 7 days a week. Sure, she gets paid for it (after seeing a photo, I wanted to ask if they’d popped for the D size boob jobs, but I refrained). Still, that’s a LOT of work.
“It’s all squats, lunges, jump up lunges,” she continues. “Hardly any upper body.” Apparently, the readers of MAXIM like lean, tone but not overdone arm muscles and lots of thigh and calves. (Sorry, I’ve actually never cracked open the mag, so I can’t attest to the truthfulness of this statement.
“I’ll give it to you if you want,” she offers. I wonder if this is black-market territory, but figure it’s not as bad as the Olympic judges selling off tickets, so I accept. Within an hour of leaving the event, I get the page. 
Now readers, by looking at this picture, your an accessory to inside knowledge that a rarified group of big-boossomed, tanned and trim models use to make loads of money. Enjoy.
PS. No. I have not yet done this workout. I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk the next day. Maybe that’s the point.

The Russian, the gang member and me

Where else in America can individuals of all walks of life gather for an hour, prostrate themselves, sweat, moan and groan and then listen to a poem on loving everyone and everything other than a hot yoga studio, located in the middle of a strip mall in a town named after a long-dead Indian tribe.

It wasn’t until 8:15 pm last night, Pacific time, when my European friends were just starting their day, and my readers down under were busy probably having a drink, that I was in the dark with forty-something other strangers, on my back, eyes closed, body wet from the exertion of holding poses for a minute and a half in 104 degrees that I was told to stop it.

“Just stop thinking,” the yoga teacher said, reminding more of a drill sergeant than a swami. “Not work. Not home. Not the kids. Nothing. Let it all go.”

Grand_Staircase.jpg
Imagine this on the gang members arm. When his
built muscle moved, so did the staircase

I tried. Really I did. But what kept coming back to me was the mid-thirties Russian gal to my right, who had kicked my butt in the balancing session, despite being twenty-five pounds heavier than me (which one would think might affect the ballet pose, what with falling over and all), and the gang-member in the back row, who kept having to lie down. I had a hard time not looking at his tattoo-covered body, (he did have a nice body, and it was not really covered, save his baggy shorts). Down his arm he had a mural that rivaled the hand of god, and across his other shoulder down to his tricep was some sort of interlocking pattern that was as fascinating as the moving staircase in Harry Potter.

“I’m going to end tonight’s session with a poem,” said Erica, the boot camp instructor. For a moment, I thought she was kidding. In all my years of on and off yoga’ing (another Don-Kingism I just made up. authors can do that), I’ve never had a poem at the end. This was supposed to be quiet meditation.

Lest you worry that I’m going to recite a poem, fear not. I can’t remember all the words. I was thinking about the interesting nature of people who come together, have toxins squeezed out of every pore for an hour, then sit in a darkened room and hear about love.

“Love yourself,” Erica continued. “Love others. Love God. Love your friends and family, but first, love yourself.” That got me thinking some more. We weren’t at church, but I’m hearing about God. Now, I’m a God-friendly sort-of-a-gal, but what about everyone else? We had to have at least a few counter-culture folks, an athiest or two, but here we all were, breathing deeply (through the mouth I hope, for the place gets really stinky when so many bodies are puking out their toxins), listening to admonitions about loving God. No where else, even in school, is this allowed.

“When life is hard. Friends turn aside. Clouds are grey. Love yourself.” Yep, I thought. We all have down times. Each and everyone of us. And who hasn’t had a friend walk away a time or two? Family members ebb and flow in and out of our lives with the tides of marriage, divorce and child-rearing. “When you go home, remember to love yourself. Only that way can you remember to love those around you.”

Erica ended with a Namaste, and an “I love you, too.” The group joined in a Namaste back, and I heard someone yip a ‘love you too Erica.’ In the din of the heat fans, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. For that brief minute or two, I was joined with the Russian and the gang member and all the rest of the group, feeling a little bit of the love.

10 minutes to tone arms

As you prepare to sit down in front of the telly with a bowl of chips and dip to watch a night of football, grab your 2, 3 or 5 lb weights. If you don’t have these items, get a rock from outside (serious). works just as well. During your 30 sec-2 min commercial breaks, lean up your arms. You would be amazed what 5 commercial breaks will do for you arms!! (and by posting this, She will be happy, since I’ve not put up a fitness blog for a while).

These are 30 second sprints, conveniently timed for the commercial. Imagine that. Use whatever weight (or rock) is light enough for you to complete 25 repetitions.

Exercise 1 Front Raise. Benefit–leans out the shoulder, and exercises the fatty tissue between chest and arm (gross)

  1. Hold a weight in each hand, stand with legs shoulder-width apart (about 1-2 feet)
  2. Bend legs slightly, tilt the pelvic bone under to protect the lower back
  3. Pull shoulders back, but not to the point of tension. Just a bit to square of chest
  4. Raise your arms, one at a time, palm down, wrist facing up.
  5. Lift up to the height of the shoulder, then lower. Repeat with the other one, and go back and forth, 25 times.

As you do this every day, or every other day, (I do it every day), you willl notice the fat will lean out, the arms (shoulder specifically) will become nice and lean. This is not only great for bathing suits, but for suits, shirts and jackets, to fit better. If you turn and observe yourself in the mirror, you will see that the back muscles get a workout as well. This also strengthens and tones the skin and muscles on your back. (who doesn’t want a sexy back??)

I started with 3 lb wts, and now use 5 lb. I’ve tried a few times to go above 5 lb (like 8) but find that my muscles get big, which is not my goal. I want to be lean, not bulky.

Exercise 2. Over the head. Benefit–leans out and tightens up the chest muscles, upper back and shoulder.

  1. Using the same weight, start with palms facing forward, shoulder height.
  2. Lift straight up and to a v, lightly touching the weights together over your head.
  3. Repeat 25 times (15 is ok if you are hurting).
  4. (a nice addition is to lift the heel of one foot and then the other with each uplift. You then get ripped calves while you are doing the work.

Tip–so as not to fatigue the muscles, I rotate among the exercises, doing a complete set VS the old school method of doing 3 sets of 25 of the same thing. It wipes out the muscles and is boring to boot.

Exercise 3. Triangle up lift. Benefit–leans out inner thighs, tones back of the leg, lifts the butt, leans out the inner arm and chest. (My favorite arm exercise of all time).

  1. Adjust legs to ballet stance– extend legs another foot (wider than your shoulders), toes pointing about 45 degrees out.
  2. Tilt pelvic bone under so you have a nice, strong, flat back
  3. Using your weights (I use 5 but started w/3. If the arms are tired, use a lower wt), start with the weights around your pelvic bone (so you arms are nearly straight down), weights touching.
  4. Start with legs bent. As you raise your body (by pushing up with your legs), raise your elbows in sync with your hands. (Tip: I keep the weights touching the entire time so I don’t cheat).
  5. Raise high enough so your elbows, shoulders and chest are aligned in a nice straight line. Lower in sync with arms and legs. Repeat 25 times.

Starts with every other day on these three exercises, but 5-6 days a week is awesome. You will notice a dramatic, visible difference in a very short time. Your clothes will fit better, the unwanted fat dimples will disappear. It wil be a sexier you. Oh, never stop. Do this forever!

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