I don’t work out. You know this based on my posts like THIS. & because I just wrote a column defending the muffin top.
Yes, I am fully aware of how Mean Girls that makes me sound. I’m also aware of my heart’s health (or non-health?), and my non-six pack. It’s just that I really hate it — it’s boring and you can’t do it in heels. Those are pretty much the only two conditions I have for my life. If it’s boring and I can’t do it in heels, I’m out.
I run sometimes. Mostly as an excuse to wear Lulu lemons and listen to Eddie Money really loud on repeat.
And yeah, you know me, lots of times I go through these fit-spurts where I’m all “YEAH, GREEN JUICE AND SQUATS MOTHER FUCKER!” but that only lasts until someone puts a wheel of Brie in front of me and that person is usually me and it’s usually only one day after I’ve decided to try and qualify for the Boston Marathon.
So, a month ago when I told a friend I’d run this hometown 10k on the 27th of April, I was obviously on Day Zero of a fit-spurt. Since then, I’ve been eating a lot of brie and worrying about how I’m going to not die when the 27th rolls around.
This morning, in a moment of delusion, I decided to test the waters. The last time I ran 10k was this time last year — since then I’ve probably jogged 12 times.
(What’s that? Once a month? That’s pretty good, right?!)
Anyway, I went for a run. And you know what? I ran 6 clicks like it wasn’t no thang.
WTF, right? I wasn’t even panting. I was just all “IF I COULD WALK ON WATER, IF I COULD FIND SOME WAAAAY TO PROOOOVE …“
It was bizarre. Until I put two and two together and realized I actually have been exercising this entire time, I just didn’t look at it that way.
You see, I am a vigorous living-room-dance-party haver. Especially when I have other things I should be doing. & I don’t mean I have dance parties like … romantic comedy cute, either. I mean go all out flailing and stuff to “Bette Davis Eyes.” My heart rate gets UP.
I made a GIF to prove it. (Yes, obviously I’m singing into an empty bottle of wine.)
I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . all you need to do to get in shape is a couple hundred hair flips to some really hardcore 80′s songs. And I didn’t want to keep that information to myself.
Suns out, guns out amiright?!
Kisses, Hugs & You’re Welcome (xo & yw)