Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Holy Moly Roly Poly.

Every two or three years I get lazy about my eating habits and put on a few (okay, several) unwanted pounds. My husband is sweet and tells me I look great. My mother loves me and talks about how nice my hair looks. My sister is even sweet enough to comment on my new shoes. But my sausage casing pants? They tell me the truth.

So I go through the motions. Drink more water. Eat more whole grains. And use that squinty confused look when I talk to my husband about the fact that I'm not skinny yet (or losing weight at all) even though I'm making all these big changes (hah!).

After a few weeks of kind of sort of thinking about dieting and maybe making a few, but not really too many, better decisions, I decide it's exercise I need. The problem is I'm not really a big fan of exercising. I love the stair master and taking long walks in the evening, but my life right now does not allow for those luxuries (I can't believe I just referred to the stair master as a luxury). Three small children and a ton of work to get done? Doesn't leave much in the way of time or options.

So without fail I decide I will exercise in my home after the kids go to bed. We don't have room for exercise equipment in the house (although hubby has a full blown gym set up in the garage, it will be a cold day in hell - very literally - when I work out in the garage in Florida), so exercise tapes it is. Yay! I research. I peruse. And I look for the one with a chick who has a great body doing a routine that doesn't look too hard. Okay, a routine that doesn't actually look like exercise. I've been through several... walk the pounds off, stripper dancing, yoga, martial arts DVD (can you believe it was ACTUALLY martial arts training!) and my (least) favorite: hip hop dance. I usually use the tape for a few days, complain about how bad [enter exercise move here] is for my [knees, back, head], file it away to use later and then end up selling it for 1/1,000th of the purchase price at our neighborhood garage sale.

Four months of lost time later? I count calories. I lose the weight. I laugh at my idiocy. I wait for the cycle to inevitably begin again.

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***The story is mostly true, but please note, this was a compensated post.

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