I've never hidden the fact that I am a "fluffier" gal on this blog,
I mean.. I share every other humiliating detail of my life on here, why not my cottage cheese buns and flappy arms?
Anyway... This isn't something that happened overnight.
I'm pretty darn sure that my children had something to do with it; of course, so did the cream gravy and cheesecake.
But I find it much more acceptable to blame the short people for my fat & saggin' from birthin' all them babies, body!
After I squeezed person #2 out of my nether regions, I noticed I was starting to get some extra baggage that didn't disappear when the little darling arrived.
I decided I needed to do something about it before the fat cells decided to invite more friends for a permanent party on my thighs.
I joined a gym.
Well, "They" called it a gym.
The contract I signed locking me into paying a gazillion dollars had the words "gym" on the top if it. The super-buff cute guy who showed me around called it a "gym" and seemed happy to see me.
I bought some cute workout shorts and wore one of my husbands T-shirts. And I was off to work out. I was ready to sweat; my hair was pulled up into a ponytail; I had a bright pink bandanna around my head to catch the hard-earned sweat I knew would soon pour off me. I went inside the "gym".
Things were going fine, I was making myself familiar with all of the gym equipment. I was even beginning to sweat! Whoo Hoo! I was making progress!
As I sat on the thigh-worker-outer-machine, I began to look around.
There were a lot of people there! They were all working out, and standing around talking.
The more I looked, the more I realized that these people were different than me. The men were all buff and beautiful, wearing their little tank-tops, perfectly tan, rippling with raw muscle and power.
WOW!, I thought to myself, this gym has some very handsome men!
And I pulled my t-shirt a bit lower in an attempt to conceal my big butt.
Then I noticed the women.
They all looked like they just walked out of a Workout Barbie box!
Each one had their makeup perfectly applied, not a hair was out of place, each waist was smaller than the last. Obviously none of these alien women have never carried a whole person around in her abdomen for 9 months! Their "workout clothes" covered less than most bikinis!!
There was no sweat!
There were no groans of pain from working so hard.
They were all just perfect models flirting with all of the men!
I sat there realizing how out of place I was, wishing I could just disappear and find a large bowl of ice cream.
My hot pink bandanna was dripping with sweat; my husbands t-shirt was wet; I couldn't decide if the bright red color on my face was from physical activity or from embarrassment.
No! I wasn't gonna let the fact that this place was more of a beautiful person pickup joint than a gym make me give up on my goals! Not to mention the fact that I was locked into a contract for the next 5 years!
I decided to try out the treadmill. There were a ton of them in a line, it would be easy to blend into my surroundings. Anything had to be better than sitting on the thigh machine and letting it force my knees way too widely apart!
I walked over to treadmill row.
But they were all occupied by tan, firm, perky, cheerleaders.
I decided it was time to leave. As I went to turn to walk out of the door, one of the pep squad divas left her treadmill. This was my chance! I was going to finish my workout no matter what!
I casually walked over to the treadmill.
I stepped onto it quietly so I would not attract any attention from the "perfect people".
The next thing I knew I felt an excruciating pain in my head.
My arm hurt, my leg hurt, my butt hurt!!
I opened my eyes to see 7 big and beautiful buff men trying to untangle me from a StairMaster machine!
But... but.. the row of StairMasters were behind me!?
Apparently, it is common practice at the pickup gym to check and make sure the treadmill is actually turned off before you step onto the 8-mile-an-hour spinning belt!
I never went back.
And, yep... I'm still fat!
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