So...I've been working out. Trying to lose weight. My family is doing a biggest loser competition. We could all stand to lose a few, hundred, pounds. ;) So Matt and I have been switching off in the evenings to use our apartment's cardio stuff. We usually eat dinner and then he scoots out, works out for a half hour, and then comes back and I scurry out. I am usually more excited to get gone than he is and I think it is mostly because working out, while exhausting and boring and hard, is my reprieve. I can leave for 30 wonderful minutes and not have anyone stepping on my feet. Or following me around crying. Or asking me 800 million questions. (This could go on forever:)) So it's nice to get the blood pumping and the happy endorphins doing their magic.
Except when you start jogging on the treadmill and you finally realize what the term "saddle-bags" means. Oh. My. Gosh! Baby number 3 has laid the icing on my cake. Never before have I felt the wave of flub on my leg as I'm going at a pace faster than normal. I wanted to stop and puke. Get off from sheer embarrassment because, surely, everyone can see this happening! It's like a circus act...see how high they swing ladies and gentlemen!!!
And then there's the full length and room width mirror! Can this get any worse? I have just discovered the heat I'm packing in my rear and I look up and have to see myself?! Just keep your head down Meggan. Don't look. But, just like a car wreck or the smell of a "toot", you keep glancing. Trying to see if it really as bad as you think. It is.
But that's why I'm going right? To get rid of those bags. And feel confident in front of the mirror. All good things in due time. I'll just get some baggier pants and keep my glasses off:)