Strong

Someone actually checked me out on RedsportsTV. Hee hee hee.

But that someone, a friend of a friend, commented, "Wah, her muscles bigger than mine man."

@!$(*$@%*! ???

So, me being me, I went back and watched the past couple of episodes over and over again (sorry Boss, for taking up the precious bandwidth and distorting the statistics again).

And I have only one conclusion: Must be those arms man.

*****

I jumped into the pool today. Finally.

I haven't been able to - it's either the games, or the bad weather. Or, both. Or, neither. That's when the lazy bones hold the mind hostage.

But I unexpectedly had some free time today, because the server's been down and Boss declared a day off from the games. Technology continues to rule my life, yet at the same time be the bane of it - I am expecting a hellish morning tomorrow before we rush to the games. That is, if the server decides to get cranking.

But I digress a little. So no games to cover, weather was looking surprisingly fine. There was nothing between me and the pool - except the road leading to it. I even got myself that silly one-dollar coin by paying for a miserly can of soya bean milk with a ten-dollar note. Uh-uh, no excuses whatsoever today.

Again, I digress.

I am rather pleased with myself today. Not so much because I even made it to the pool, but because strangely enough, I actually had it much easier with the damned laps today. And lagi better? I am not even feeling tired now.

So I suppose, I must really be getting stronger again. Ok, the abs and the size-0 jeans are still some time away. But hey, if you were me, you'd also spend much more time these days admiring your own back in the mirror.

And of course, those arms.

Ooh.


Just as supermodels, or the wannabes, feel a compulsive need to stay skinny for the runway, the Redbabe does feel a similar urge to look toned and fit as a sports writer and a sports-show *a-hem* presenter.

Maybe not skinny, which a lot of people think I already am (but wait till you guys check out the scale), but more lean and mean like a real sporting machine, like I really know what I am saying or writing.

I mean, if I were flabby or if I were so weak I couldn't even run to three games in an afternoon without huffing and puffing and turning all pukey-green in the face, I might risk becoming a laughing-stock. Which I absolutely cannot tolerate.

Well, I don't mean I should look like those sixteen-year-old chicks who are still blessed with hidden fat cells and metabolism that isn't retarding. But I thought I should do us thirty-year-olds some proud.

Most of all, really, I just love being strong.

Ok ok... real reason?

TV is not forgiving at all. :/