I’m afraid I will have to begin this blog with a prayer of forgiveness.

Dear God, please forgive me for not being a better christian. For not loving you enough to want to see you sooner. I SHOULD eat chocolate cake and fried chicken so that I can begin my eternity with you in heaven WAY before I turn fifty. I apologize, God. 

In Jesus’ name. Amen. 

First, I hope you know that entire prayer was a joke. Second, yes, it has happened. I’m actually going to exercise.

I talk about health and fitness a lot, and I’m very good at it (talking). For example, My body rejects everything healthy and Signs that you take your diet too seriously are posts that speak for themselves when it comes to my vast knowledge on all matters of nutrition and exercise.

I’m finding out that doing it is a whole other matter entirely.

So far, I’ve been working out for. . . eh. . . hmm. . rounding up? . . . two days straight.

— Motivation —

My motivation generated from the cute little poochy that has become my lower tummy.

[“Poochy” is a petite girl’s way of saying “I’ve gained weight” without everyone and their grandma walloping her for having an eating disorder—when in reality, she said nothing about an eating disorder, she merely said “I’ve gained weight”.]

The bulk of my motivation came from Chris, who has already accomplished a one month ab challenge, is moving on to his second, explained to me what a waist trainer is, and rides a bike daily. He basically makes me feel like the fatty of the relationship.

(Though, in all honesty, if there had to be a fatty in the relationship, I rather it be me. I like dessert too much.)

All this to say, I’ve realized the time has come. I can no longer eat cookies and chips—the way I have for the past twenty years—and not expect my body to react in some swelling matter.

A moment of silence for those glorious days when my metabolism kept up with the never ceasing salt and sugar intake.

. . .

One more moment of silence. Those days were amazing.

. . .

RIP, dear metabolism friend.

— Routine —

At this point, for me to spend thirty minutes on the elliptical machine is an accomplishment. Thirty minutes and I’ve met my quota. I want to start small in the hopes that it will become a habit for me to show up at the gym on a regular basis.

After a few weeks, I’ll think about pushing myself into real fat loss or muscle building or whatever it is people do.

Today, I saw a girl hanging upside down on a pull up machine, six feet in the air, hauling her little body up and down.

See, now that kind of stuff does NOT appeal to me.

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