Arms. or Hey! That's not a freckle!

If you knew how my arms are shaking while I'm typing this, you'd give me great kudos for not only using my brain to come up with something to write but for also using my arms which are trembling with fatigue. 

I really like my arms.  They're not shapely and they're not particularly strong, but I like them.  As a matter of fact, I think I like them because they're the weakest part of my body and I can watch them get stronger and more defined.  Today was Arc Trainer Day, which I've given the subtitle Arm Day, so while my legs went to town, I watched my arms which braced me.

The first thing I noticed was a brand new freckle.  I noticed it because I have a particular freckle formation on my forearm: it looks to me like a candle snuffer.  Today the handle of the snuffer was looking more sturdy than usual.  Realizing it was chocolate (I made - not ate - several trays of chocolate this morning), I sheepishly wiped it away.  I remember when I used to worry about not sweating enough on equipment -- now I have to worry about not being chocolatey!  But I digress.

Anyhoo, once my freckles were reduced to their normal number, I thought about how even though I think of my arms as weak, they can do some pretty good things.  They can carry loads of groceries; they can toss kids around in the pool; they can hug; they're the port to giving life when I donate blood.

So when I was all done on the arc trainer I hit some upper body machines and I hit 'em good and hard because I really do like my arms and all that they do.  And next summer, when I'm finally allowed to swim again, I want them to pull me through the water like nobody's business.  AND I've challenged myself to do two - count 'em, two - pull-ups on that bully-of-a-bar in my childhood gym.

Grand plans.  Now if only my arms would stop trembling. 

J