Revenge of the Bitch Tits
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Thanks in large part to Sir Spark-A-Lot, my bitch tits shrank, I left the suburbs in 2011 (thank Christ for that one), exited my toxic relationship at the end of 2010 and knocked out a couple of half-marathons. I never quite reached my goal weight and I never was able to get below a sub two hour run, but best of all, I didn't faint when I bent over to tie my shoes.
Sadly or pathetically or something, the weight slowly crept back up. I think a partial reason was I didn't make running the priority I used to and also was lucky enough to fall in looooooooooooooooooooove (wretch, gag) which created a sense of comfort and my own vanity shrank a bit as I wasn't in the game. Not to mention, one of our favorite weekly rituals was eating about nine pounds of cheese and washing it down with a bottle of wine which has long-lasting repercussions.
This weekend my gal and I reviewed the numbers on the poor bent, sagging and struggling scale and realized it was time to shape up. We both packed on the weight over the winter when the climes are more conducive to snuggling under a blanket and eating a box of Girl Scout cookies instead of splashing through slushy puddles and skidding on the ice. She is working her program, I'm working mine thus back to the Spark I come.
Day One is under my belt, Day Two is upon me. The Bowflex not-so-quietly beckons, time to lace on my shoes and go for a waddle.