I need another nickname for the extra ten (15, whatever.) pounds I am carrying around. I’ve been calling it 'Bertha' for the last 5 years--35 seemed awful old to be talking about losing my 'Freshman 15'.
The thing is, that this 15 pounds has been in and out of my life since I was about 20 years old, making it the 2nd longest relationship in my life, and I just don't think Bertha is cutting it –she needs a more serious, dignified name to properly commemorate her status as my life partner.
Really, what I should do is try to catch the fitness bug that seems to be hot and heavy this time of year, but I don't know how. I see droves of people on social media posting before and after pictures, or sharing their 5 mile hike or the 20000 steps they walked today, and I think, how do they do that? I mean, I also think that Fitbit will turn out to be the Mark of the Beast when the 2pacalypse comes, but that's just me, hating on technology.
Don't get me wrong, I exercise. Occasionally. Usually in the 2-3 weeks before a wedding, vacation, or other event that necessitates buying a new outfit. I load up on lettuce, and tell Bertha to pack her shit. I go outside and jog and do pushups and things in the morning, but I have to make myself do it. Every day. And it's a struggle. Two days after whatever life event prompted the fitness phase, Bertha shows up with a 6 pack of IPA and a bucket of Reese's-Peanut-Butter-Cup-Pepperoni-and-Mushroom-Brie-Baguette-Delight and a stack of Jennifer Weiner novels, and I scooch over on my couch and, gladly, make room for her.
I look at my fitness freak friends posting glowing, triumphant selfies from the top of some mountain they jogged up, and I wish I could do that--then I realize that there is left-over pizza-lasagna in the fridge (it's a real thing) and Sex and the City on On Demand. So, yeah, there is that.
I really feel like there must be some fitness virus I can catch, you know? Like I can go rub my hands all over some muscly, marathon-running person, preferably a 35 year-old male one, and --boom!-- I would instantly be at GNC buying protein powder and doing P90X (is that even cool anymore?) before breakfast.
I mean, seriously, how else but a virus do you explain perfectly normal people ranting and raving about how awesome it feels to do 45 minutes worth of cardio before the sun is up, and without a cup of coffee first. Is it a cult? A form of self-hypnotism? Whaaaaat?? I want in on that shit, yo.
Seriously.
Bertha is fun, and she makes my boobs look (and feel, I’ve heard the reviews) like magic, but I want a divorce.
Any of you fitness freaks want to come over and sneeze on me or share your Kool Aid?
Anyone?
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