Or a Bean in Bee's clothing? Or a Millie in Moo's clothing? OBSERVE! The rest of our Halloween:
I'll wait while you collect yourselves after that onslaught of cuteness.
Feeling better? Good. Now let me tell you about why I feel like my legs are going to fall off.
PILATES. I used to do Pilates. Remember when I was incredibly thin, and fit, and gorgeous? Well, fit anyway? Yes, me too. Remember how excited I was, after several months of general sloth upon returning to Kansas, to have a treadmill and an elliptical machine installed in my own home? Yes, me too. Remember how I used them a few times, and then resigned myself to staring at them guiltily as I sat on the couch watching TV with the Hubby every evening? You don't? That's because I never told you--but that's exactly what's been happening. That's been happening to the tune of fifteen POUNDS. FIFTEEN pounds. FIVE plus TEN. That's how much weight I've gained this year. Yikes, I know. Hideous. Horrifying. One whole pants size. That's just unpleasant.
I don't know how much the Hub has gained. I don't ask. He doesn't tell. But a couple of weeks ago he said he'd had enough. Time to get fit. And, like some sort of machine, he set about it. He discovered that our television (amazing as I thought it was already) had the most incredibly wonderful thing to happen in rural Kansas since the REA delivered our first electricity. Now, pardon the CAPS, but I find it this important.
OUR TELEVISION HAS A VAST ARRAY OF WORKOUTS ON IT.
Think about it. Every week the instructors post new workouts (Treadmill, Yoga, Pilates, Core Strengthening, Dance, "Extreme Cardio", Step Aerobics, Stretching, etc.), and old workouts are archived so that they can still be played. This means you don't have to do the same workout every day, as with a DVD. You have CHOICE. VARIATION. It is like having a dozen personal trainers.
Let that sink in. In two weeks, using the gift of internet tv (and me trying my best to cook him responsibly healthy dinners), Hub has recorded weight loss. So, yesterday I decided I'd also had enough. "Eeee-NOUGH already!" I shouted, and marched myself downstairs. I decided to start small. Pilates for half an hour. Taxing enough that I'd feel proud for doing something (other than sitting in front of my computer all day mumbling synonyms and sporadically shouting swear words), but not so taxing that I'd be intimidated and therefore not continue.
It was great. I felt wonderful. This morning my abs were sore, but in that delightfully burn-ey way that lets you know you have done something GOOD for yourself. It feels bad, but in the best sort of way. So this morning I decided I could do more. MORE. I did Pilates to start and then, obviously in some sort of endorphin-induced mania, I did kickboxing. The teacher is pregnant. Pregnant and completely insane. She didn't stop moving for a half an hour. Arms, legs, punching kicking, squatting, jumping, running, lunging, hopping--JESUS! Ten minutes in and I just wanted to crawl under a blanket an hide from the shouting pregnant lady... but I didn't. I DIDN'T. I punched, and kicked, and squatted, and jumped, and ran until I thought my legs might possibly just decide to detach themselves and walk away from that shit on their own. But they didn't. And we got through it.
Now, tomorrow I may not do kickboxing again. The wonder of GymBox means I don't have to. But I will do something. Anything. And these fifteen pounds will melt away and be gone forever. Or, at least until I forget that in order to feel my best, I HAVE TO KEEP MOVING. And, then again, maybe if I get to keep working out with GymBox, I'll never forget that again!