I promise, after this I will not make you wade through my meaningless complaints of feeling chubby, rotund, fat, out-of-shape, blubbery, lard-like, or any of the other ways I describe my post-semester-from-hell body. This is the last of it– from now on, only positives.
See this picture? There are many worthwhile things of note going on here.
- I was in the midst of Ragnar, the most phenomenal display of athletic stupidity I have yet to embrace.
- I am about to start a sunset run and, as all good emergency preparedness guru wannabes, I am fully prepared with a reflective vest, headlamp, and what you can’t see is the blinking red light that could pass for a radioactive bunny tail affixed to my little bunny butt.
- I am also fully prepared with my RoadID (the yellow wristband). I would highly highly recommend one of these for all athletes, bike commuters, or outdoor enthusiasts. After a very very close call with a car on a busy Minneapolis street during a midday run last year, in which I was not carrying identification and had not informed anyone of my whereabouts, I do not ever run without one. Today I joined the YWCA and have actually chosen to wear it there as well. The beauty of the “interactive” model is that responders can call a number on my ID and enter my specific code and get important information about my age, any medical conditions, where I prefer to be treated, etc. It takes some of the guess work out of that critical hour if a serious injury were to occur (knock on wood).
- Those shades are simultaneously ridiculous and awesome. Ridicusome, if you will.
- Most importantly however, notice the toned, tanned legs and arms. The less than bulgy tummy is under that sweet vest, but trust me, it’s there. I want that back! No double chin, no armpit pudge rolling over my bra bands*, no feeling like this:
And so I joined the YWCA, got an awesome student rate and committed myself to a healthier, toned, more athletic second half of winter. Became one with the treadmill, despite a serious love-hate relationship, and sweated out the last 5 months of unhealthy stress and poor eating. There are only nineteen weeks until the Buffalo Triathlon, and I vowed to do better this year than last year (even though I am SO PROUD of my performance last year) and right now, I don’t think I could survive 2 hours straight of cardiovascular activity.
No more Marshmallow Me. Eat my dust, Michelin Man.
*I bet this is much more personal information about my anatomy than you thought. Ha! I love surprising you guys.