Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Solo! Hay lapa no ya, Solo! Solo! (or, what's going on with my waistband)

Last week at the gym, I said to my trainer, "I'd like to do another round of squat-walks!"

No, seriously, I said that. Yes, me, who gets winded if she sits up too fast.

Part of my "get the fuck out of here, feels" plan was to start exercising regularly. Not only have I started to out-grow my metabolism (and coincidentally, the only pair of jeans that I own), but downing bottles of wine and an endless supply of greasy, bacony carbs covered in Chik-fil-a sauce (seriously, what White Trash deity twinked that condiment with its little wand? That shit is magical.) was making me feel dumpy, out of control and a bit... amorphous.

I'm at the heaviest I've ever been, and buying a bigger pair of jeans isn't an option, because I didn't want to train myself to think I can keep buying bigger clothes. But, I'm getting the point of getting older where portion control or skipping a few meals every now and then no longer counts as "exercising." And I know me well enough to know I won't stick to any kind of fitness plan even if I'm held financially accountable. (Remember, I've been a member of a gym for the past year and there were months straight during that year where I paid and didn't set foot in it.) But, I decided enough was enough. So I signed up with a trainer. Someone who could whip my ass into shape.

The first few sessions were murderous, and I left the gym barely able to walk. But now, surprisingly, after 3 weeks, I'm starting to like it. I like the way my "muscles" radiate between pain and endorphins the next day. I like sweating it out. I like knowing that I'm making some kind of progress, no matter how slow it is. And I like that when I'm there, my brain kinda quiets down and I can enjoy doing something good for myself. 

Maybe in the next 10 years I'll look a little less Jabba and a little more Leia. And maybe I won't break a sweat walking up the stairs*.

Tune in next week when I complain about eating healthy. Because the only healthy things I know to eat are frozen Healthy Choice dinners (as my coworker describes them: "that tastes like hot, crunchy water.") or turkey wraps with no dressing (the saddest wrap in the entire world).

I'm gonna miss you, binge eating.

*yeah right.


Lancey Pants said...

I think we've been over this before, possibly on your blog as well: Chic-fil-A Sauce was concocted by the Fredericksburg CFA Franchise owner. He served the sauce out of gallon jugs w/ pumps INSIDE ONLY (screw those of you too fat to get out of your cars). It was also available in mason jars for $5.

Audrey Turner said...

omg. I need a mason jar full of chik-fil-a sauce.

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