Yes, I’m fat. But I don’t deserve to be. If life were fair, I’d be a body model for some skimpy bathing suit line. I’d be ripped. And you’d be jealous. You see, I’m not new to working out. I don’t particular like most forms of exercise, but I do them religiously anyway.
I didn’t grow up in an athletic family, but I was on the first girls Little League team in Orem. As pitcher. And I was on the Lakeridge Jr. High softball team. More importantly, when I hung up the mitt and put on ballroom dance heels in high school, I also began a lifelong commitment to aerobic exercise.
Since then I have attended countless aerobic classes, lifted weights endlessly, and run a billion miles. Sam asked me on our first date in college when I was running—sweaty and without makeup—from a weight-lifting class to one of three dance classes. I taught aerobics for a time as an adult. I went into labor with my second daughter while attending a class!
In my “old age” I began taking kenpo karate at 36, just two weeks after giving birth to my fifth baby. I worked my way up to a blue belt before moving from Florida. To celebrate my 40th birthday (using the term “celebrate” loosely) I ran (using the term “ran” even more loosely) a marathon. No, not a mini-marathon. Not a half-marathon. A full-out, heart-attack-inducing, living-failure-causing 26.2 mile mother of all races. And I finished. And I did not die. And I have a medal to prove it.
Since school got out in May, I’ve been dragging two of my daughters to Zumba and spinning classes every morning. It never ends.
I have been working out about five days a week for over three decades. So why in the world these mamby, pamby yoga-ish workouts have me aching to the bone is beyond me.
Except that maybe they are really efficient at working muscles.
So, a warning. Your heart might be strong, but I’m willing to bet that this workout program is going to show you a thing or two about fitness.
Let me know how you’re making out.