I like to eat. A lot. The vikings have
nothing on me when it comes to feasting. I don't even need a holiday
as an excuse to strap on the ol' feed bag.
For this reason, I have to
exercise regularly or else I'll wind up with a butt the size of
Texas. I know no shame when it comes to triple chocolate rum cake. I
just have to sweat it out of my pores with a strenuous workout.
I enrolled in a women's gym to
save myself the embarrassment of men seeing what I REALLY look like
at eight o'clock in the morning. It's not fun packing seven pounds of
cellulite into a three pound bag. By the time I get to the gym, my
Spandex leggings are so tight, they're screaming, “I can't do it, Captain! I don't
have the power!” The uncomfortable tightness is further aggravated
once I start to really sweat. My thighs become chafed and require a
large fire extinguisher just to put out the smoke.
I love going to the gym, but there
are days when I'm bone weary and the treadmill looks more like a
torture device than a comfortable walking machine. Once my sadistic
trainer sets the treadmill at a high incline on warp speed, I'm
already sweating and thinking, “Beam me up, Scotty!” Preferably
to a planet that believes chocolate is an important food group and
part of a healthy diet.
I don't mind using the weight
machines. God knows I need to get rid of these bat wings, jello
thighs and “cow utters” by my bra straps. I've gotten pretty good
at lifting weights but I'm not too fond of the loud grunting noises
from the women around me. They sound uncomfortably constipated as
they lift, and I'm tempted to toss them a box of Exlax. Some of these
ladies don't realize that when they're lifting, they're straining
internal parts, which triggers a green light for pent-up gases to
head south and out the door.***Want More Meno Mama? This week I was featured for the first time on Boomeon! I'm dishing on what it's like to go from an empty nest to a full house. You can read it here: http://www.boomeon.com/posts/from-empty-nest-to-full-house

