Laziness Revisited

These past couple of weeks have been insane. My roommate and I have been getting up at 6 a.m. to go to the gym and I've been super busy at work. I've also been doing some freelance transcribing on the side which ensures that I stay at my office well after 5p.m. Basically, I've been taking a huge bite out of real-life adulthood.

At the end of March, after a few days of incessant gorging, Roommate and I made a pact to start going to the gym at least three times a week. Obviously we want to be fit....but if you're like me, you need a goal to help kick-start your health habit. So - I am attending a wedding in May and I'm a bridesmaid in August - let's just say the little fat girl inside of me was like "Hey, fatty! Yeah, you. Don't look behind you to see if I'm talking to someone else. Listen: We Are On HIGH ALERT!" The healthy me thinks -- This is great. I will go to the gym at least 3x a week. This will make me fit and make me feel good. The traumatized fatty thinks -- You do not want to be the fat bridesmaid. Spanx will not help you. Get your ass in gear.

(Clearly I envision my friend K -the bride- placing a "me-as-your-bridesmaid" picture on her mantle where all her friends and family can see and scoff at it. In this scenario it is just me though...I don't know where she plans on putting her own wedding picture....but I know I'm going on the mantle.)

Anyway, I have been energetically exhausted and definitely have not had much time to read.

Why not just throw a book in my gym bag? You know, kill two birds with one sweaty stone? You don't know how many times I've tried.

Taking the book with my to the gym? Piece of fat-free, sugar-free cake. Reading it while at the gym....not so much.

In college, I used to try reading my homework at the gym; a failed attempt every time. I either read the article/book on the bike and didn't mustering up a bead of sweat OR I bounced about doing harder cardio and kept re-reading the same sentence/paragraph over and over. I've even tried reading magazines, but all the jostling of the elliptical or treadmill makes me nauseous and gives me a headache. I guess it makes sense, trying to mix my most guilty pleasure with my most dreaded pleasure. I could try working out to a book-on-tape -- but I envision myself staring off into the distance while on a machine, falling victim to the book's plot instead of running off the rogue chocolates I ate the night before.

Hopefully my work load will lighten up in time for the weekend and I can catch up on some much needed reading time and DVR unloading. And maybe even add in a gym visit at some point....