Working Out, Exercise, Futility
This working out thing just ain't working out for me! I bike the Riverwalk and then some to get in around 20 miles roundtrip, sweating profusely and looking slightly better than the wet dishrag I left in my sink. I walk my neighborhood wearing a weight-vest for 1 1/2 to 2 hours looking like I belong on a swat team and I'm searching out a house to invade (I'm actually scouting for the location of the public restrooms on the golf course), I go to the The Rush and pray nobody recognizes me (I don't see how they could). What does all this get me? Fifteen more pounds than what I weighed last year.
Oh, I heard you. You smirked and said no way. I say yes, way. or weigh. This menopause thing is killing me and my budget. I guess I could just give in and go with the Nana-look. You know, big buxom chest, wide hips, and the chapped thighs. Don't think I haven't thought about it. But, I just feel so rotten when I'm heavier, I just can't give in to it, at least not yet. Plus, I'd have to buy a bigger wardrobe. As it is, I'm constantly looking for my fat clothes or pretending that what I've got on isn't stretched across my chest or rear that much.
So, I work out, I try to eat healthy, but let me tell you, I'm getting pretty darn tired of doing it and getting no results. I've given my doctor and The Rush my ultimatum- help me lose this weight or I may be forced to seek out one of those places that herd people in and dispense what I call weight crack.
I've noticed several of my blogs have this exercise issue? I need to expand my horizon a bit. I admit it. Okay, I promise I will...after I lose some of this weight.