Feeling the Pain

I used to enjoy being physically active. Back in the days when I was svelte, childless and free to pinch any man's ass. It was not a big deal for me to strap on my running shoes and go pound pavement. All through my school years I was the track star. If I wasn't running in circles on a track you could find me dribbling a ball and shooting hoops on a court.

Slowly my enthusiasm for sweat started to deteriorate. Somewhere around the third child. It became progressively harder to motivate myself to move. Why get up early to go for a jog when I would be running my ass off all day chasing small children?

It's been a few years since I've swung a bat, tied up my laces or treaded any water. Since Bug's passing, I've become a model couch potato. My cushions on the sofa can prove it. Unfortunately, so can my ass cheeks. Which have slowly started to spread and recently, I've heard murmurs of a plan for global domination.

To the outside world, I look fit. That would be because I squeeze my lard-like thighs into a denim casing and hope that I don't rip a seam. Which I did this weekend. As I bent down to pick up a hammer, I busted out of my pants. Literally. Good thing I was wearing underwear or it could have been really ugly...

But looking trim and being fit are two different things. I can always buy bigger pants and a stronger girdle. (Shudder.) However, that isn't going to help me stop huffing and puffing up my drive way or allow me to actually bike ride with my kids without wishing for a car to run me over and put me out of my misery. Anything to stop the pain.

It is time to embrace fitness. In actuality and not just theory. Time to get off my duff and start moving before the jelly rolls I call my stomach stage a coup d'etat and start a cult worshipping the donut. It is time for me to join a gym.

So I did. Reluctantly. And petulantly. While wishing I was one of those trim beings who could inhale whatever they wanted and still look like a starving supermodel.

As I was filling in my application form, I eyed the few people who were working out. There was one girl who looked like Twiggy. Bitch. The few others ranged in ages forty upwards. That would work. Surely I could run circles around the grannies.

Right? Wrong. Those seniors could beat me down with one osteoporosis-riddled bony arm tied behind their back. I decided that is how I want to be when I grow up. A pumped up Grannie.

Focusing my attention back to the forms before me, I dutifully filled in the questions about my health and lifestyle.

What inspired you to pay an arm and a leg to join our gym and publicly humiliate yourself amongst others?

The jiggling of my ass kept calling to me. I couldn't make out if it wanted me to go to a donut store or join a gym, so I just took a stab in the dark.

What results are you looking to achieve after months of dues being taken out of your account without you actually darkening our door?

I'm hoping to be able to bend over with out splitting my pants in front of my husband ever again. He's likely to laugh about that and hold it over my head for a long time. It wouldn't hurt to be able to actually be able to walk up my drive without huffing like I just ran a triathlon either.

What part of your body would you like our trained professional body Nazi's to target and beat into shape for you?

Any part that jiggles. Except my boobs. I've grown to love my new B-cup status. The fat seems to firm them up and they don't droop as low as they once did.

Scanning the documents to see if I answered all the questions and signed my life away entirely, I handed the papers back to the fitness guru standing before me. I handed over my credit card, made a mental note to buy some yoga pants that fit and a new sports bra and looked around for the exit.

My jelly rolls need to be eased into activity. Right now they think exercise is something I do in the dark, in bed when my husband is home. I want to break it to them gently.

I figured I'd start on Monday. I was winded just by signing the credit card charge. I don't want to overdo it right off the hop and experience any permanent damage.