This morning was AFC (Advanced Fat Camp). I don’t know how well I’m going to like the morning class. Sure, it works better with my schedule but I feel like I need the late afternoon to stave off the crazy angries. And the stress eating. Which, it turns out, is about all I eat. I resolve to work on it.
Today was slated for our 30 minute treadmill test. Get on the treadmill. Go for 30 minutes. Record distance. The speed is ultimately up to the individual. This is the 7th such test I have done. My best is 2.04 miles. My worst was 1.64. Today was 1.84. I’m nothing if not consistent. And not awful considering I’ve had about 2 months off.
We also weighed in and got measured. Waist is the same. Hips the same. Didn’t check thighs but it’s probably the same. Weight is up 3 pounds. Figures.
As she is measuring my waist, I say This ought to be interesting. I’m totally bloated.
(Please don’t make me say why.)
Molly says “That’s an excuse. Excuses are like assholes. Know why?”
Everybody has one?
“Nobody wants to hear about it.”
Cracked me up. Seriously. Big slobbery girl-crush kisses to my trainer. This? Is why I keep going back. She knows me well.
The thing is that I’m full of excuses. I can rationalize myself into (or out of) anything. I can do it to you too. I am the great enabler.
I’ve been dealt a shitty life so I don’t have to be nice.
My kids are both sick so I shouldn’t have to go and volunteer.
I’ve had a tough day and cookies would make be feel better.
I worked hard. I deserve that new outfit/gadget/smelly lotion.
See? This one knows me. Or maybe she was just frustrated by the extra whining that comes during the first week of any new class.
Also, in the Land of the Blogs, one’s asshole is not off-limits. It is on this blog but not on others. So somebody wants to hear about it.