I took the photo you see here at the gym on Thursday. I don’t look that different than I ever have. Maybe a few more wrinkles, more grey in my beard.

Well, except one thing: my neck.

I see a thicker neck, perhaps bent just right in the photo, but it looks stronger to me. I feel less like a bobble-head.

All over, actually, the changes that eight consistent weeks of working out have brought about are, for lack of better phrasing, intriguing. So far, my arms and shoulders are bigger. I have back muscles. My thighs are less squish and more stocky. I have a shape to my butt that is not flat.

I still have the curves of my frame around my midsection, but my trunk feels stronger, more solid, even if it does still remain under a layer of fat.

A good friend has pointed out that if I change my stance a bit – feet shoulder-width apart, and stand up taller – that my profile becomes noticeably better. I appear more confident, perhaps “better,” when I stand as he suggested.

In all, it’s just strange to see the changes my body has been undergoing. It’s physical. It’s also emotional and mental. I do not hate myself any longer. I do not wish I could change but lack the ambition to do so. It’s a slow, incremental shift, but tonight, I definitely feel like I’ve made progress. I’ve got years ahead of me as I continue to improve and rediscover just what sort of biology I am capable of. For now, though, I have a good workout habit, with no intention of breaking it.

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