To become motivated to do anything outside of "the must's" for me is quite difficult. I don't diet because quite frankly I don't like feeling deprived and my love for food know's no bounds. Forget romance, give me a nice steak and I am good, preferrably a Porterhouse. Nonetheless, I decided after some rather snarky comments, that are not worth mentioning but worth taking mental note of, that I should begin to exercise. Not really to lose weight but to lose the beer belly. (No, I don't drink beer but I rather enjoy fruity spirits.)
Elan also needed to get in shape for football season to build up endurance for his position that requires running, and so we took up jogging nightly last week. Ten miles in five days with one day off for our beloved Harry Potter. Saturday night I ran more than normal so last night being Sunday I tried to pick up my feet and jog a bit and that is when it hit me. "Am I old or is this how a fat person's joints feel?" I swear it felt like someone was screwing bolts into my joints as I tried to run, and even angry singer P!nk and her tempermental lyrics were not motivating me. However, I persisted and completed four miles walk/run.
This morning I feel nothing but old. My back hurts as do all the other joints below my belt. And I am rather annoyed. My love for all things deep fried and buttered has gotten me here. And now I have to endure the pain. Too bad eating does not hurt! Anyone care for a piece of prickly pear cactus?
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