I’ve talked about diet and exercise here 100 times before, so I’m sorry I’ve been Captain Do-Nothing. But I was chatting with my lady contingent, and we all seem to have had some form of weight-related trauma this week.
My clothes have gone from “saucily clingy” to “Oh, honey…,” I’m always tired, and even if I got off the couch to exercise, I’d probably collapse within 5 minutes. Plus I couldn’t donate blood today because my iron levels are too low, as if my steady diet of animal crackers and barbecue chips isn’t providing sufficient nutrients (pfft).
My friends have similar concerns. There’s a general consensus that although we are obviously sexy as fuck at any weight, exhaustion and ill-fitting clothing aren’t as much fun as you’d think.
So. To quote one friend: “We can do this. We are a formidable trio of badass bitches, and we can do anything we set our minds to.”
^ Now, I understand that statement is not WHOLLY true. I seem incapable of getting over relationships, sticking to a budget, or performing neurosurgery. But I can sure as fuck eat a carrot and take a walk now and then. (Well, as soon as Philly isn’t so humid that it feels like we’re being suffocated by ball sacks. But indoor workouts are a go.)
Smug Singleton 