Somebody Send Me Some Motivation

I think I’m going on four months now since I’ve gone for a real jog.  I tried jogging last week and barely made it past a half mile.  I suppose the triple digit heat doesn’t make it any easier.  My new running shoes I purchased last spring are still considerably new.  I’m at the higher end of my ten pound range at a whopping 115lbs. with the additional lbs settling in my midsection.  I don’t want to hit the pool because I’ve got an embarrassing muffin top hanging over my new cute bikini bottom.  I feel frumpy.  I feel sloppy.  Somebody send me some motivation!

It doesn’t help that last weekend was a completely junk out weekend.  Yes what well respected road trip would go without a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, Beef Jerky, BBQ Chips, Beer, Whisky, , Coke, and a box of wine.  Granted we were camping at 10,000 feet and did a little bit of hiking, the overall theme of the weekend of was do nothing but relax.

Also the 10 days we were on vacation earlier this month in Orlando gave us the excuse, “To eat like we’re on vacation.”

I need to get active again.  I’ve let this stagnate state go on for too long.  Enough is enough!  Time to take back my tummy and get moving again.  When you’re petite and bony, that extra flab around the waistline isn’t quite so easy to hide.

So… where do I start?

The planks and squates only lasted two weeks.

My mind won’t shut up long enough for me to enjoy yoga.

Perhaps I’ll jhoin the neighborhood gym.

That opens up the conversation of workout equipments being accessible.  There aren’t exactly talking treadmills and ellipticals at your neighborhood gym, and don’t get me started on the touch screen topic.  I never feel like I’m using the machines quite right, holding the right form, or whatever.  I also feel like everyone is watching me.  As soon as I walk through the doors, I’m worried that any mistake I make will be because of my blindness and not because I’m generally uncoordinated and have no rhythm what-so-ever.  I mean seriously, if you were to see me in a palates or kick boxing class, those weird jerky off beat movements I’m making aren’t due to my blindness but to the fact that I really have NO rhythm.  But to the stranger observing me from across the way, I’m the blind girl.

OK…breathing in… breathing out…and sucking it up now.  I’m done whining.  Time to put on my big girl panties and feel good about myself.  As soon as it cools down, I’ll pack us a picnic dinner in the park, and take the kids out on their bikes as I jog down the peaceful suburban greenbelt.

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