So, I went out and bought this elliptical machine last week. It's somewhat alien looking. Like a metallic antelope crouched behind the couch, waiting to spring at me at any moment. I suspect that the anticipation of it's impending attack is part of what makes it so necessary for me to climb on every morning. I'm gonna break this damn thing like a wild stallion before it can break me.
This exercise thing is really hard. Don't ever let anyone tell you that working out is "fun!" Cause I am seriously getting my ass kicked right now. I am not going to lie. I am in no condition to be working out every day with machines and weights and over sized balls. I am a fat, lazy couch-potato and my only hope is to get through these first couple of months without dying or pulling anything irreparably out of place. Maybe then I'll be in shape enough to work out. Right now though, I barely have enough strength left in my upper arm to lift this mug of water. I may die of dehydration, right now. And it will all be the fault of The Machine.
God, I really hate that thing. The day I bought it I went skipping out of the store. I was so excited and in love with the idea of being "fit." Yeah! I was gonna work out, eat healthy all of the time. I would feel vigorous! Full of energy and a zest for life.
Mostly, I'm just tired. And a little sore. And sometimes, when I look at The Machine, I cry a little. Knowing that the next morning, I'm just going to have to climb back on up there and work up a sweat. Again. But, in the long run I no longer feel guilty about my time on the couch, knowing that I have actually earned it now. So, that's nice. And, in about ten minutes, when I go downstairs and heat up that slice of leftover pizza I wont feel guilty about that either. I may feel a little guilty about the potato chips I have later tonight. Or, I may skip them. Of my own volition. Having absolutely nothing to do with that Machine that I have to squeeze past in order to even get downstairs. Nope. Nothing to do with that at all.