So I met with my trainer last Thursday. Doomsday. It was not pretty. On their handy-dandy scale, I weighed 169lbs and my BMI is way super high. Bottom line--I'M FAT. And now I really see it. I knew I was chubby and that I weighed more than I wanted to and that I couldn't suck in my tummy anymore. But now, when I look in the mirro or walk by my reflection in a window--I can really see it. I am fat.
Le sigh...
Before doing any weights, my trainer has me jump-starting my poor pathetic fat booty on the elliptical machine. For 40 minutes, at level 7 and 120-130 rpm. If you've not done that--let me tell you, it sucks. Not for the first 10 minutes, mind you. for the first 10 minutes you're like, "This is it? Pffffttt...I can totally do this! Maybe I'm not in such bad shape after all! Yay!" Then, somewhere around minute 11, you begin to feel like someone has attached sandbags to your legs--oh, and those sandbags are on fire.
There is a plus to bringing Ethan with me to the gym. I am supposed to spend 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer, pedaling my way to a heart attack (but a lovely permanent flush in my cheeks), but Ethan generally only lasts 30 minutes or so in the playroom before he has a grade-A meltdown that requires the babysitter to hunt me down and save me from my misery. This is my sneaky way of getting out of those last 10 minutes. Yes, yes--I know, I'm only cheating myself. Yadda yadda yadda....I like to think of it as saving some energy for the next time.
And next time is tomorrow at 7:30am...aren't I usually sleeping at 7:30? Yeah. Oh well, I"m usually fat, too. Guess the times are a-changing...
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