Sure, I could blame it on having kids. Sure I could say it took me years to pack it on, I could even go so far as to say it must be a genetic/age thing. But let's face it girls, they would all be big fat lies. No kidding. I expanded exponentially over the past year. I have become a sloth.
Truth is, in the spring of 2004, I was wearing a size five. The spring of 2001, 2002,and again 2003 also size five. My weight was 130 lbs, give or take a few. For several years.
I wasn't thin and wraithlike, or weak and undernourished. I was active and healthy, and normal.
This year there was no famous orange dress, much to the horror of the Oddball IT department and half of southern Maine and Quebec.(don't even ask) There was no little black tank dress with strappy sandals. As a matter of fact there was very little in my overly large wardrobe that would begin to button, zip, or tie around my suddenly round body.
I got a wee bit freaked out.
Last time I weighed in this high was two days before giving birth to a 9lb 3 oz baby girl.
Now, our beloved Oddball has listened to me piss and moan about this before.
Once or twice.
Maybe three times.But certainly no more than that.
I keep threatening to sign up for a fitness class, and cut beer out of my diet, and eat organic greens with tofu for a year. Idol threats all of them. I kept expanding. and not feeling well, and being inactive. It wasn't fun.
So I joined the gym.
Or entered another dimension.
the jury is still out on that one.
Friday morning I walked over to the Superstore, marched my little hiney up the stairs and asked to buy a membership. I thought it would be that simple.
"Hi! Here's my excrutiatingly large amount of money, give me a card and point me to the nearest treadmill."
Not so much.
I met several lovely perky girls who all remembered my first name and wanted to shake my hand, and welcome me to Goodlife. They were sweet really. I was a little afraid.
An hour later, after much smiling and perkiness on the part of the manager, my bank account considerably lighter, and an appointment card with a personal trainer in my hand. I left the stuper store. Stumbling and wondering if my life would ever be the same again.
Last night I tossed and turned and worried about my impending appointment with the mysterious Anne.
Today I met her. She rocks. I don't feel nearly as nervous now. Tommorrow we start a program. She gets to tell me what to do to make my body resemble a human form, rather than a bad potatoe experiment gone wrong. And I get to work my everlovin ass off to get there.
I think it is a reasonably fair thing to do. considering I may have to sell a kidney to pay for this healthclub experiment. I am pretty confident that by Christmas there will be a little less of me, right in time for holiday binging.
And to celebrate this, I have decided I can only have beer on weekends and hump days. I must drink twice as much water than I already do, and I must eat breakfast every day.
martinis are still fair game.
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