I Work Out…Well, Sort of (#39)

Wait. A Minute.  I just worked out.  For three – yes three –  days.  In. A. Row.  This is ground breaking.  I even ran.  And I wasn’t even chasing after a cupcake or something.

Here’s the thing.  I love cupcakes and candy.  Potato chips and pizza.  I love french fries and mini donuts, chocolate shakes and peanut butter cookies.  And I like muffins, but not placed around my waist, if ya know what I’m saying.  And there’s some stupid rule about the amount of calories you take in vs. how many you put back out into the universe.

I tried to test that theory.  You know, the one about putting stuff out into the universe and wishing it to be and it comes true?  But it didn’t work when I wished my potato chips from my lunch into the universe.  It just made my pants harder to button.

So between my pants getting tighter and this other rule about metabolism slowing down as you age, I thought I should take some action.  Action that makes me sweat.

So I bought some cute pink running shorts, that go with my pink iPod shuffle and my grey and pink tennis shoes…waaaait.  What?  I’m that girl.  The one with the matchy, matchy outfits?  I didn’t do this on purpose.  Swear.  I actually bought all items separately and months apart.  I guess subconsciously I must think pink will make me run faster or something.  Crap.  I just realized I was wearing a pink sports bra too.

What happened to me?

I do have some dignity left.  Promise.  I did NOT primp my hair and put on make up before I went for my run/walk.  I’ve got some common sense.  And really, why waste your time on that anyway.  I sweat like mad when I’m really pushing myself – what a waste of good cosmetics that would be.  And who are these women at the gym that don’t sweat and still look good at the end of the work out anyway? They’re not human.  I’m certain of it.

Working out is one of the rare times that my fair skin gets some color.  Unfortunately, my face becomes as red as a tomato and people look at me like I’m dying.  And on the inside I feel like it, but I have to nod and smile at them, sending some telepathic message that this is normal for me.  No really, it is.

So I worked out.  I’m proud of myself and my measly little 3 days in a row.  You’ve got to start somewhere, right?  Plus, I refuse to give up mini donuts.  Or fries.  And I can’t get rid of the candy either.  Supposedly the more you work out, the more you love it.  It gives you some kind of ‘high’?  I’ve yet to find this.  At least with working out, but then again – it’s only been three days.

I’ll let you know if I become one of those annoying people that gushes about how awesome working out is. Then you can set me straight.  Because the way I see it, waking up at 5am to fit a work out in, isn’t happening.  I’m too darned tired from staying up late to write these posts.  And when you exercise after work, you need to shower for a second time in the day – and that’s just a plain hassle.  I just don’t see how this can become fun.

What I do see however, is a building sense of confidence and pride in myself for accomplishing more goals.  Pushing myself beyond comfortable limits.

And looking even better in my pink shorts with my extra fast pink shoes.