Today I took another step in my never-ending quest towards health and a bangin' beach body. Okay, by "never-ending" I mean ever-beginning, with no real middle to speak of, thereby precluding an actual end. And by bangin' beach body, I mean I'd be a mom approaching 40 without a bathing suit that equates to a tank top and a plus sized bottom, with a ruffly skirt, that we can both pretend is tricking you about what is going on underneath it.
You see, I love to eat. Especially the 3 main food groups: Cheese, Chocolate, and wine. Thankfully, I also love going to the gym. Rather, I love getting to the gym. I'm pumped when I pull out of my driveway. I'm one of those hair done, made-up, matchy outfit people with a Louis Vitton gym bag. I can actually hold onto this delusion until I get in front of one of those warped gym mirrors. Someone should really have them looked at. But, the ride there is none-the-less motivating, and only surpassed in joy by that of the ride home.
Don't get me wrong. I pay a LOT of money for the gym I belong to because it's really amazing there. It doesn't smell anything like a foot, and they offer everything, including a million classes. Before Isla was born, I used to take 2 classes a day there. Kickboxing, Zumba, Yoga...I was unstoppable.
I recently found myself in my first Zumba class in 3 years. People like to tell you that you won't forget how to do it after having a baby. That it's like riding a bike. I guess it is. Only the bike is a teeny tiny tricycle. And it's almost impossible to get your arms and legs to do different things at the same time since you haven't really slept in 18 months. And your rear end probably doesn't fit on the tiny little seat. And you might pee your pants a bit if you hit a bump. But this is the kind of stuff we do to keep it together.
Here's the thing. A year and a half after Isla's birth, I still don't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes. Today, I realized I'm going to have to do something drastic. So, I did the only rational thing I could do. I committed to running 5 miles that are separated by mud and walls and ditches, in the dead of summer. I signed up with a bunch of lunatics that I like to call family. They like to call themselves the "Crummy Cuzzins."
We settled on the "Rock Solid Mud Run" in August. In an effort to stay "glass half full" about this disaster waiting to happen, I've been working on a few mantras. So far, I've got: "Heat Exhaustion is more fun than Hypothermia" and "At least we don't have to be electrocuted." That last one just fills me with joy. If this mud run/obstacle course thing is as foreign to you as it was to me 3 months ago, you might think I'm exaggerating. Nope.
In the end, I'll be REALLY proud if I can get through this with out embarassing or killing myself. The truth is that a little exercise never killed anyone. Well, maybe it has, but it's certainly not going to kill me. Well, I guess maybe it could. But at least I don't have do be electrocuted.
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