“So, do you want to start running 5K’s with me next month?” he casually asked while we were snuggled up watching Muppets Most Wanted.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” I doubled over in laughter. After a few seconds I snuck a peek at his face. “Oh. Oh, you were serious.”
“Oh. Well, can we maybe start in January? So that I can at least start going to the gym again to get back into the swing of things?”
You see, I’m not the kind of girl that runs. Anywhere. Ever. If I were being chased by a rabid grizzly bear or a brain-eating zombie, I still wouldn’t run. I would simply trip the people around me. I know, not the most sportsmanlike move, but all’s fair when zombies are involved.
Okay, so there might possibly be one reason I would ever run. If there were only one piece of coconut cake left in existence and it was absolutely impossible to ever make any more, then I would run. I would totally play dirty and use whatever means possible to ensure that I, and ONLY I, got that piece of cake. Seriously, no one gets between me and my coconut cake.
That being said, I’ve started going back to the gym. I have yet to get on the treadmill, but I’ve been using the elliptical like a boss. (Okay, so the incline is at zero and the resistance rarely goes above 10, but I’m still getting into my groove.)
You know, I think it’s pretty good that I even drag myself to the workout room. It’s always super crowded with all these skinny girls wearing shorts that reveal every single muscular flex as they pound away on the treadmill. Whereas I’m wearing 3 sports bras just to prevent a wardrobe malfunction and praying that all this movement doesn’t jiggle something inside me loose. Like my ovaries.
Invariably I start out with good intentions, but within a week my workout routine gets shot to hell. Last night I did an hour on the elliptical. Then I came home and cooked a pound of bacon because I thought I probably needed some protein. Or something. Yeah. Hey, I didn’t EAT the whole pound… I dropped one piece on the floor by accident.
On the plus side, he’s carb-free. This greatly excites my grandmother because she’s hoping his diet will rub off on me. Maybe I’ll actually loose weight if I keep eating carb-free meals with him. Probably what will happen though is after spending a day with him, I’ll be walking down the street and pass a bakery. I’ll undoubtedly get sucked in by the delicious allure of carbs, have a food black-out, and then the next thing I know I’ll be getting handcuffed by the police while I’m shoveling baked goods into my mouth, powdered sugar coating my shirt, butter dripping down my chin, muttering something like “eat alllllll the breeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaads” while small children are fleeing in terror.
Maybe I should just tell him to run the 5K’s without me….