One of my very bestest of the best friends is getting married in October and I am one of her bridesmaids. In my ongoing quest to be as supportive and helpful as I can be during this stressful wedding planning time, I agreed to do something called the “Dirty Girl Mud Run” with her in August. It’s a 5K obstacle course run and you get really dirty and muddy and hopefully have a good time all in the name of breast cancer research and funding and support and stuff. But here’s the thing: I suck at exercise. I always have.
When I was in elementary school I was in dance like all the other girls my age but I hated it utterly and completely. I was kind of uncoordinated but also very enthusiastic which proved to be a disastrous mix not only for the general uniformity of the class during a recital but also for my popularity. Dance class was where I learned that my name rhymes with nothing good. The name game sucks people. So one day my dad is getting me ready to go to class and helping me get into my tights and I am just sobbing and this huge wad of disgusting child snot falls onto my dad’s hand and he just looks at me and says “You really don’t want to go this much?” Thankfully he let me quit that shitshow.
Fast forward to the 7th grade where it’s kind of expected that I will join a sport or something since I’m now eligible to do so. I tried volleyball, basketball, golf, and cross-country skiing(what!? and why?) over the course of the next 3 years but I seriously sucked at all of it. Truthfully my friend Shannon and I spent most of golf practice every afternoon hiding in the clubhouse and eating the pre-packaged muffins they sold there. That’s the problem with me, not only am I not good at physical activity, I just don’t care about it. I don’t get sports. You couldn’t pay me to care who wins what game or trophy or whatever. The genes are missing for it I guess. I think they were replaced by the genes that care about who dies and who kisses who in what TV show or movie or book….I don’t know.
But anyway, exercise and I have never been friends. So you’d think I probably weigh about a million pounds right? Well I don’t, but neither am I what anyone would call slim. I’ve always thought of myself as pretty “normal-sized” whatever that means. but if you’ve read my blog before you know that this place is mostly about foods. Delicious foods that may or may not be healthy. Cooking, baking, and food are sort of my thing. So gradually over the last few years I’ve realized that if I want that to be my thing (and I do, I SOOOOO do), I’m going to have to start doing some kind of exercising because I think I might be edging out of normal and moving slowly towards the larger end of the spectrum. Stupid metabolism and aging. I’ve been pretty lucky until now but I think the old girl is slowing down, gradually being impeded by huge chunks of pie and cookies. I’m a big proponent of tough love. I usually always advise it when someone asks for my advice and I’m quick to offer it when I think it’s really needed but I realized as I was huffing up the relatively small hill near my house this morning on my first day of the Couch to 5K program that I don’t really practice the whole tough love thing on myself very often. So I guess I’m saying I need to put up or shut up. Shit or get off the pot. That kind of thing. I can’t whine about my pants being tight if I’m not actively doing anything to change it. Since I exercised today I fully reserve the right to whine about it later though, k?
I read about this whole Couch to 5K thing on Bake at 350 the other day and she made it seem pretty doable so I downloaded it this morning and after about 2 hours of lollygagging and being a lazy POS I got outside and did it. And guess what, I didn’t die. Hopefully I stick with it. It would be cool to say that I can run 5K, wouldn’t it? I mean I’m sure I’m probably still going to look like this towards the middle of the Dirty Girl thing, but I’m okay with that.
And Pogo or my mom or Shannon will have to carry me like this at the end:
But we’ll have fun, won’t we girls? Bwhahahahaha! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make some Hungarian Shortbread. Baby steps, friends. Baby steps.