I had been such a slacker. The last time I was on a normal gym routine was two weeks ago, minus one day that I forced myself to go so as not to turn into a sloth. So when my after-work plans fell through yesterday, I decided to bite the bullet and get back on the horse. (And also start introducing lots of cliches into my every day speak.)

I live less than a minute from my work, so my “commute” didn’t leave me much time to change my mind. Neither did the time it took to sort through the mail (we only got two things), change my shoes (my flip flops were by the door) or put on Kodiak’s leash.

Once I got outside, though, my feelings started to change. It’s so warm out! I could walk around for awhile with Kodiak! Walking is exercise, after all. And think of the strength training while dragging him out from under the apple tree!

Right.

By the timeΒ we got back inside the couch and Gilmore Girls on ABC Family was seeming much more appealing (even though, yes, I have the entire series on DVD what of it?) and I knew that if I didn’t go upstairs right this very minute and put on my gym clothes I would never make it back out the door.

So I went. And I’m glad I did. Even though the gym was sweltering (do the do that on purpose?). Even though the woman next to me — affectionately dubbed “boobs” due to her rather large fake ones — kept making “wooshing” noises on the bike next to me. Even though by the end of my 40 minutes set on random on the stepper I could neither breathe nor walk properly.

I took my tomato-red face and soaked through tank top to the locker room, along with the People magazine I had been reading. I collected my belongings — which now included a ripped out page from the People I had been reading of Taylor Swift (I actually cannot stand Taylor Swift, however in this particular picture her hair looked really awesome and I thought it might be good wedding ‘do inspiration. A planning bride never rests. Not even at the gym.) — and walked over to the sink to wash my hands. It was then I noticed that despite looking the color of over-ripe produce, I was actually glowing. A post-exercise, healthy glow. And it was in that moment that I was back on the ball, back in my gym routine and actually happy to do it.

Weird.

(I was going to casually forget to mention that we had pizza for dinner, but I won’t. It was thin crust, after all, so, um, less carbs. Yeah. Less carbs.)

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