See, that's where I have issues. The doing something about it. For so long I've been content to live my life by this:
But, over the course of the past month I've been working with a personal trainer. The inches are slowly starting to drop down (maybe they'd be a little quicker if the hubs would stop bringing cookies into the house. Damn his speedy metabolism and my unwillingness to have any self control)!
So, after meeting a friend for coffee this morning, I had some free time before heading to work. I thought this would be a perfect time to log a quick run. "What? Someone your size can actually move at a quick pace," you say. Yeah, I'll deal with your smart mouth later... it's amazing how I know how snarky my reading audience is, isn't it?
Anyway back on topic: I changed, I went outside and I ran a few blocks. Then I hacked up a lung and walked a few blocks, then repeated the whole process multiple times. I'm fairly certain more than one neighbor may have thought either a wild animal was dying outside or they should call 911 because an escaped mental patient in work out clothes was dying by their house. I actually logged a mile. I know, I know... that's not much to most of my friends who routinely run anywhere from a 5K to a marathon but come on, you know me. You know that in my mind exercise is right up there with unmedicated childbirth... an absolute unnecessary concept in this world of "give me a pill or medical intervention to make the pain, fat stop"!
So, while I"m still not this woman:
And I probably never will be... I am actually making it past the end of my driveway and turning back around for cinnamon rolls. And in my world, that's a pretty big accomplishment.
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