So I’ve started exercising. It’s a recent thing. OK, maybe it’s a New Year’s Resolution thing. I’m partial to fresh starts. I know it’s cheesy and meaningless, but I still love the idea that as of January 1, I’ve thus far had a perfect year. I haven’t yet been lazy or distracted or had too many glasses of wine or wasted too many hours watching TV. And I’m totally the skinniest I’ve been all year so far.
I’ve been going to the gym in the community center of my neighborhood. I’ve been 10 times so far. So I’m at about .588. If I were a baseball player I would totally be making a ton of money and faux-secretly dating Kate Hudson. As an exercise record, it’s not that awesome, but significantly better than last year’s record of .000 as an exercise-to-days ratio.
Things I feel the need to confess about my exercising:
1. I’ve just worked up to 2 miles on the treadmill. It takes me half an hour. This is fairly humiliating seeing as how it’s not as if there’s no athleticism in the family at all. My sister ran a half marathon yesterday in under two hours. She had a baby 14 weeks ago. She wasn’t thrilled with her time because she did it way faster, sweated less and binge drank the night before the last time she did one. It’s possible we’re like Danny Devito and Arnold Swartzenegger in that movie, Twins. Arnold got all of the good and wonderful genetic gifts and the Danny egg split off all the tiny, fat-man jokester parts. My sister is a 6 foot blonde while I’m a 5’4” graying brunette. Hmm. Something to wonder about.
2. My tennis shoes (running shoes? Only shoes I own that are appropriate for any type of athletic endeavor?) are 12+ years old. I don’t remember when I bought them, but I know I had them in college. Which was a long time ago. When my dad and sister heard this they were horrified and urged me to get new shoes immediately. Then I showed the shoes to them and they were like, ‘Huh. They’re actually in pretty good shape. Maybe you’re ok to keep wearing them.’ I’d like to think this is because either
A) I exercise in such a light and delicate manner that I don’t put any wear on my shoes at all. I’m practically a jogging fairy princess like that. OR
B) I chose such excellently made shoes they’re like the George Clooney of running shoes. The can survive years of abuse without showing their age. But I think the reason is actually
C) I put them on once every two or three years when I decide to try this whole exercising thing again, and then I quit after 2 weeks. My dad calculated last night they are probably only about 6 months old in normal human years.
3. The only way I can get through the 30 minutes of time I spend on the treadmill is to watch awesomely trashy TV while I do it. I have thus far enjoyed Millionaire Matchmaker (who doesn’t love Patti and her ‘the penis does the picking!’), Cut-off (the preview for next week where the two girls have handfuls of each other’s hair and are screaming, “NO YOU LET GO” at each other is riveting), The X Life (no, TJ Lavin! You can’t die from a horrible BMXing accident!! Who will host Real World/Road Rules Challenges if you are gone?), some Project Runway knock-off where a designer put a shoe on a girl’s head that I didn’t catch the name of and of course my very favorite, Teen Mom. If I’m doing something productive WHILE I’m doing something with absolutely no redeeming value, then the non-redeemable thing doesn’t count, right? I’m totally going to start drinking wine while blogging on this premise. Bonus for the readers!
4. I wore hot pink cheetah print socks to the gym on Saturday. I only really have 3 pairs of socks that are appropriate for any exercise situation (although I do have 27 pairs of colored and patterned tights for wearing with various skirts and boots) and all three were dirty. So I put on the cheetah socks and went downstairs ready to hit the treadmill. Jason gave me a smirking sideways look. I told him, ‘I would change if I thought white socks would make me look any hotter. But I’m pretty sure the I <3 Boxed Wine shirt and headband holding back my bangs and displaying half an inch of grey roots sidelined any chance I had of winning Miss Arizona Treadmill Beauty, anyway.’