I am on Day Three of my new exercise program.
Day Four if you count the day I pulled my running shoes out of the back of my closet and dusted them off. I am inclined to count it as they did have quite a bit of dust on them that needed to be cleaned off.
Day Five if you count buying new running socks. Everyone knows that the first step to establishing an exercise regime is shopping. First for trying on clothes in your size that no longer fit. Sob. And second for buying some actual needed exercise item, like socks.
Exercise is second in line only to my hatred of board games. I hate it. I hate sweating. I hate exerting myself. My idea of a perfect run is from the couch to the refrigerator for a cold diet Coke.
I have a short attention span so I am usually bored and ready to quit after about five minutes. I came home on Day Two and told my husband that was why I could never be a marathon runner. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Really? That's why?"
Uh, YES. The fact that my rear end slaps my shoulder blades when I run and that I feel like I might keel over and die 24.2 miles shorter than a marathon has nothing to do with it.
Where was I? Oh yes. See this is what I mean about the short attention span.
I then spend the next 25 minutes of my run/walk/gasping for air mentally telling myself how much it sucks, wondering where that runner's high is that other people talk about, questioning if perhaps I just come from a long line of terminally lazy people. And therefore it really wouldn't be my fault. It would be my mother's fault! Her and her faulty genes. I could live with that excuse.
Unfortunately I also got her expanding midsection and an insatiable sweet tooth.