You may have convinced me that exercise is important, and its possible I could accept that carb’s are not God’s gift to dieters, and on a really good day I’ll support salad as a side dish, but there is no way ever you could make me believe that Lycra is a good idea.
You would think it would be important while exercising to cover our less flattering features, rather than enhancing them with shiny fabric in ‘look at me’ colors and styles that don’t cover your cellulite, but rather hug neatly to every dimple and bulge. I mean call me crazy, but does anyone else find this whole ‘wear comfortable clothes for exercising’ thing disturbing? I haven’t worn anything comfortable since I leapt off the rack into the plus-size section.
It’s like wearing black because it’s ‘slimming’. Hullo! There is no such thing as a slimming outfit when you weigh 200 pounds. Forget Lycra – I am most comfortable in my bootleg sweats – and that’s what I’m wearing – as soon as I start exercising of course.
Theories on exercise are numerous and varied, and there seems to be as many professional opinions as there are infomercials for systems to tone, trim, train, tighten, taunt, tease and torture yourself. I myself, am marching bravely towards the worlds largest collection of diet and health books (second only to my collection of recipe books), and had to build an extra garage for all the exercise equipment I bought while eating peanut butter toast and raspberry twists in front of the T.V.
Like many desperate housewives, it was common for me to hit the pavement safely smug in the knowledge that walking is the best form of exercise. (ha! Who ever dreamed up this one is my HERO!) As a bonus I can deliver a self-righteous lecture to hubby and kids while I huff and puff my way through tying these flippin laces. (excuse me while I CATCH….oww chest pains…MY…..what the heck is wrong with flipflops anyway?…..BREATHE…whew…mental note to buy slip ons) And as any fatty with a brain knows, it can all be accomplished without breaking a sweat on a convenient walk past the store with enough time on the way back to scoff an entire packet of fat free, chocolate covered, low carb, double dipped, unsalted, organic grown honey roasted peanuts. They’re healthy after all. The packet says so!
When the novelty of showing off my latest exercise outfit to the neighbors wore off (day 2), I would move to exercising indoors, and fortunately owned a whole library of videos, dvd’s, inspirational books, and a plethora of dusty equipment that will do just the job. (I guess I could go buy a real clothes rack if I have to.)
As soon as I can find a patch for that oversized ball, and a leotard that will fit both butt cheeks I’ll be exercising like you wouldn’t believe. Do I need say more? Of course I never did it. Who wants to bounce around their living room (okay so I generously use with poetic license the word ‘bounce’) terrorizing small children, and worrying that Pastor So-and-So might pop by for a visit? No thanks, not me.
So what other options are there? TaiBo? TaiChi? Fat camp? Swimming? Bahahaha! LMBO (if only laughing your butt off was actually possible) Swimming?! That is a good one! (loud guffaw followed by choking as overactive imagination conjures the image of me in the swimsuit I don’t own, cos girlfriend – I don’t do swimsuits!)
I know there are whole clubs dedicated to this, the pursuit of physical health, but maybe you have forgotten the wall to wall, floor to ceiling, dimple to pimple MIRRORS in there! Mirrors for Africa. Mirrors that make sure every person in the building can see you from every angle. Mirrors so carefully avoided at home, in fitting rooms, on car visors, and in compacts, now mocking in their unrelenting reflection of the sum of all my sins – yes – THOSE mirrors!
The problem is, my ‘don’t-stand-if-you-can-sit-eat-often-use-treadmill-as-laundry-sorting-area’ plan is not working. So in a moment of possible insanity, and with a very dark pair of glasses, I ventured one day through the front door of Hades, and managed to join the gym without looking anyone in the eye.
I learnt how without muscle to give my body shape and form, I could easily end up being the lady in church with upper arms that can praise the Lord all by themselves. I also learnt that Lycra went out with the old millennium and there’s not a shiny crop top in sight. Gosh – and I spent a fortune on this one-piece leisure suit in ‘lipstick pink’ with sequin trim.
If it wasn’t in the Bible, I could probably talk myself, and a whole army of sweat-drenched, mirror dazed, stair climbing, cardio freaks out of the need for exercise, but He said it was a good idea, so it must be true.
I’ll never love the sweating, the outfits, or the mirrors, but I’ll take the chance to see once and for all, if my butt looks big in these pants!