New Year, Con't.
So. Did we all make our New Year's resolutions?
Mine are pretty simple: acquire a hot body, become a bestselling author, learn five new languages, etc.
Haven't worked out how I'll achieve these goals yet. But I think I may have found one path that could lead to hot-bodiness, or at least lukewarm-bodiness.
If there is one thing that is true about me, it's that I hate to exercise. I mean, I don't just dislike it. I HATE it. But I am forced to admit that, like death and taxes, the need to exercise is inevitable.
I think I may have found the perfect exercise class for me. I can tell it's perfect by how much I hate it. It's at the fitness club, it combines hot yoga with weight training, and it's popular with men as well as women. Which means that, in addition to being one of the most horrible things I need to do for myself, it smells pretty bad, too. A twofer.
You need a few pieces of equipment for the class. A yoga mat, so you can stake out your personal space as far away from the sound system as possible. Colorful hand weights. A water bottle. And a small towel. The towel is important. You need it to wipe the sweat from your palms every five seconds so you won't drop one of your colorful weights on your toes. Plus it gives you something to sob into when no one is looking.
Then you let some gorgeous young thing without an ounce of body fat torture you for an hour. "Balance, balance, balance and lift that right leg up over your head!" That sort of thing.
I realize I need to make some changes in my diet, too, if I want to achieve hot-bodiness. A diet of pizza and kettle corn is probably not the way to optimum health.
But one reform at a time.
Mine are pretty simple: acquire a hot body, become a bestselling author, learn five new languages, etc.
Haven't worked out how I'll achieve these goals yet. But I think I may have found one path that could lead to hot-bodiness, or at least lukewarm-bodiness.
If there is one thing that is true about me, it's that I hate to exercise. I mean, I don't just dislike it. I HATE it. But I am forced to admit that, like death and taxes, the need to exercise is inevitable.
I think I may have found the perfect exercise class for me. I can tell it's perfect by how much I hate it. It's at the fitness club, it combines hot yoga with weight training, and it's popular with men as well as women. Which means that, in addition to being one of the most horrible things I need to do for myself, it smells pretty bad, too. A twofer.
You need a few pieces of equipment for the class. A yoga mat, so you can stake out your personal space as far away from the sound system as possible. Colorful hand weights. A water bottle. And a small towel. The towel is important. You need it to wipe the sweat from your palms every five seconds so you won't drop one of your colorful weights on your toes. Plus it gives you something to sob into when no one is looking.
Then you let some gorgeous young thing without an ounce of body fat torture you for an hour. "Balance, balance, balance and lift that right leg up over your head!" That sort of thing.
I realize I need to make some changes in my diet, too, if I want to achieve hot-bodiness. A diet of pizza and kettle corn is probably not the way to optimum health.
But one reform at a time.
Comments
Post a Comment