Monday, February 26, 2007
I have a confession to make. And since I haven't believed in the catholic type of confession in years, I figure here is as good a place as any to wipe my conscience clear. I haven't been to the gym in 2 1/2 months. I could come up with a laundry list of excuses: The holidays! Who wants to think about working out during the holidays? The holidays are made for overindulgence and gulity feelings. Then, the week after Christmas - when everyone starts to feel their guilt and go to the gym - I got some nasty stomach thing, and couldn't do much more than moan and feel sorry for myself. Then I went out of town over New Year's, and it took me a week to catch up on my sleep - because trust me, you do not want to deal with me when I'm in Lack-Of-Sleep mode. Then in January I started my new job - which, as excuses go, is a really bad attempt since the new job actually gave me MORE free time, not less. Then I had to rush home to...feed the cats, and take out the garbage and fix dinner...and...um... Like I said, a list of bad excuses (Except for the sick-thing. That's a good one. Right? RIGHT? ) Well, that all stopped today. I hate the gym - I think I've made that clear in the past. This is because being lazy takes up so much energy that I have none left for sweating. If I turn on the fireplace for long enough, I can break a sweat being lazy, and surely that counts for SOMETHING. And all that lifting I do to get the wine glass to my lips...I just know that burns a few calories each time. And I do many reps of that exercise. So I was doing my part. Or so I thought. Until I got on the scale yesterday, and let's just say the scene in the bathroom before I got in the shower - which should be a happy moment, unless you ruin it by realizing you're half the weight of a pregnant pony - THAT scene should have won me the Oscar for "Best Performance By a Woman Approaching 30 Who Finally Realizes Her Body is Trying to Tell Her Something." Today, I went back to the gym. My thighs hurt. My arms hurt. My calves hurt. My hair folicles hurt. I think I strained a fingernail. Damn, I feel good.