This temporary insanity was spurred by the fact that an adorable vintage dress that fit me on Monday barely zipped up on Tuesday. And by "barely zipped up" I mean I lost some of my skin to the zipper of the dress and made painful faces. Poor hubbs had to endure them. This is the dress, an adorable late '40s or early '50s bundle of cuteness.
I would have gone for a run last night but by the time I was in and out of the dress it was too late. And I think hubbs would have laughed at me. Before I fell asleep I resolved to myself that I would begin running multiple times per week and eating healthy.
Darn.
I spoke with a friend at work today who recommended that I start with 15 minutes of running and build up to 30. Doesn't sound like long until your chest is burning, your lungs are bursting, and you have a strange cramp in the arch of your left foot. And all of the music on your current playlist is in Spanish. Also, I might not have run the whole entire time. I might have done spurts of power walking.
(PS How humiliating is exercising in public? All that huffing and puffing and sweating... Where's the Big Bad Wolf? Oh wait, it's just that little blond girl jogging by...)
I've never really been a fan of that whole running phenomenon that seems to have hit the youth who live around me. It seems to me that running was created for getting somewhere fast or getting away from a threat like a charging T-Rex. I suppose my threat could be the extra marriage weight, cholesterol, or heart problems, but right now running makes me feel like I'm going to die instead of like I'm going to fight death. Go figure. Oh... figure. Punny. Not intentional, I promise.
I'm going to try to continue this whole exercise thing in the hope that I do it often enough to delude myself into thinking that I actually like it. I used to play tennis in high school and I really enjoyed that. I also took dance lessons and delighted in those. Somewhere along the line I got a degree and a desk job and lost my oomph. For those of you who don't know, Kristi's Official Dictionary sometimes defines "oomph" as "the irrational willingness to exert oneself physically, not to save one's life, but for enjoyment." Sometimes "oomph" is alternately defined as "the noise a Kristi makes when she falls." So if you were confused at first I can understand why.
And can I insert a disclaimer here? I understand that weight gain can be natural and sometimes healthy. However, I find myself noticing that what I do or do not do in regards to food and exercise is affecting my physical shape. I could do with being healthy and toned. Notice that I did not say skinny. Ok?
Don't hate me for this post. No haters here unless you want to post about how you also hate running. I would like to encourage that type of hate. Well, not really, but it would make me feel like less of a fluffy wimp.
Anyhow, perhaps while hubbs is in Vegas I will get into shape and eat well. That sounds like something I should do. Maybe I even want to do it? Gasp! We shall see.
Is anyone else feeling this way? Is this an age thing? A female thing? A "change is coming in my life and I'm working on dealing with it" thing? Sheesh. I need to go cuddle a kitten.
See you later!
