It feels good to be a gangsta.
Well, that's what rap songs tell me. Until I figure out exactly what that means, I think I'll stick to feeling awesome.
And I do feel awesome. The workouts are starting to, well, work. I don't carve crappy food and even today at the ballpark, I shied away from beer and a brat, mostly because I knew the havoc that would wreak with my stomach. There's apparently more to being healthy than working out every day, and I've almost figured it out.
My hands still hurt. Fingers mostly. I suppose I'll eventually figure out how to punch so my knuckles won't feel jammed all the time.
I could be an ironman. 2012, baby.
Wonder if Vin will want to race?
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