There once was a time when I exercised pretty regularly. I gave my treadmill a good solid workout a few times a week. Then I’d get knocked down with a stuffy nose and sinus pain (thank you chronic sinusitis) or have trouble breathing (thank you asthma) and use it as an excuse to stop exercising. Of course, once you get out of the habit it’s so hard to get back on track.
At some point last fall I fell off the exercise wagon right in to a field filled with Halloween candy, Thanksgiving turkey and stuffing, and Christmas cookies, glazed ham, and mashed potato volcanoes filled with tablespoons of butter. [All of a sudden my mouth is watering.] I kept saying “I’m going to work out starting tomorrow. Right after I eat this Hostess cream filled Christmas tree cakes. Yes, the whole box.” [And there's the drool.] But then the next day I’d be tired so I’d take a little nap with a pre-nap appetizer of Yogurt Dots. [What? Yogurt's good for you.]
So, shockingly, my pants have started to get a little snug and my twin skin (I will continue to blame it on twin skin instead of fat for as long as I can keep up the rouse) has started to hang over my pants just a little bit further. I’m way too cheap to buy new clothes so I need to take care of this before my jeans start to look like their owned by the Incredible Hulk. And that start day was today.
After work I jumped on the treadmill. My old friend. Who I haven’t seen for ages. I literally had to dust it. [Of course, by dusting I mean I turned it on high and let it shake the dust off on it's own.] I put on my old tennies and took a puff of my inhaler before jumping on.
The first several minutes went well. Of course I was just warming up and was walking at a slow crawl, but it was going well nonetheless. Then I got interrupted, which totally threw off my vibe. But I got back on and pushed on.
Fifteen minutes later I was starting to get a cramp in my side. I was sweating like a pig. And I was starting to wheeze. How freaking out of shape am I? Apparently very.
Somewhere around the 25 minute mark I was walking in time to Red Hot Chili Peppers; Suck My Kiss when all of a sudden I wanted to beat Anthony Kiedis silly with a Blood Sugar Sex Magik album. Anthony shouldn’t take it personally though. I was just at that point in the workout. You know that point. The point where you want to give up, jump in your car and go in search of some skinny bitch with six-pack abs and a tight ass so you can tackle her and force feed her some Twinkies. Clearly I needed Jillian Michaels standing over me screaming “Unless you puke, faint or die, keep going!”
At the end of my 30 minute
run brisk walk I looked down to see how many calories I had burned. Two hundred and 18 measly calories. Seriously?!? That’s it? I spent 30 minutes walking my butt off for freaking 218 calories. You know how long it takes to eat 218 calories? About 75 seconds. One bite if it’s something creamy and sugary and delicious. Two hundred and 18 flippin calories. This working out crap sucks.