The Post in Which She Last Complains About Feeling Fat and Out of Shape

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.
  1. I was in the midst of Ragnar, the most phenomenal display of athletic stupidity I have yet to embrace. 
  2. 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.  
  3. 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).  
  4. Those shades are simultaneously ridiculous and awesome.  Ridicusome, if you will.
  5. 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. 

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