The trouble with being blessed with a metabolism that allows you to eat just about anything you want without gaining weight is that it doesn't last forever. Eventually, karma catches up with you and you have two choices - stop eating donuts and cupcakes or get your expanding butt on a torturous piece of equipment three or four times a week. Obviously, the former is out of the question so I am reluctantly forced to do the latter.
That treadmill that had been taking up precious space in my bedroom for years was about to find out that it wasn't originally designed as a clothes hanger. Although I had used it for a few months back when Bill Clinton was president, I wasn't even sure the darn thing would still be operational. The motor sounded as creaky as my knees as it struggled to come back to life. I figured it probably wouldn't make it past the first lap so I liked my chances of getting through the first workout without breaking a sweat. Five minutes later, I was struggling to keep up with the easiest aerobic setting. Twenty minutes later, I was ready to stop eating donuts.
One week later, I've worked my way back to doing a mile in twenty minutes. Not exactly Olympic pace, but I'll take it. If I want to keep anything close to my girlish figure, I'm going to have to keep the clothes on the hangers and hop on that hamster wheel regularly. It's either that or take my husband's advice and take a walk outside. And I just can't see that happening.
Why would I ever want to walk around my boring neighborhood when I can do a couple of laps with Regisless Kelly? If I have to stay in shape, the least I can do is pick up a couple of laughs along the way.
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