I joke all the time. I'm in shape, my shape just happens to be round. It's really not that funny. Nothing is more pathetic than watching a fat girl try and jog. A short, fat, girl. A short, fat, girl in cowboy boots, huffing and puffing up and down the driveway. Up and down the driveway, because nothing is more pathetic to watch, and I don't want to subject everyone driving on the road to the sight. And my driveway is pretty long.
I'm not hugely heavy. Not morbidly obese. The is just more of me than I wish there to be. HA HA, I rhyme. I have gained weight though, especially this summer. It isn't healthy. I don't feel good, or feel good about myself. My joints hurt more and more often. The tendinitis in my elbow has been kicking my ass. I get tired easier. I can't do as much outside Work, and I've gotten weaker.
I'm about 20 pounds overweight. My pants don't fit right. My boobs are ginormous and don't fit in my cute bras. Why do they only make cute bras in sizes for people with no boobs? What, big girls don't want to feel sexy too? They're going to be nekkid and under the covers with the lights out before they let their man come out of the bathroom? Big bras come in beige, white, and black. BORING! I want hawt pink, and turquoise. Something with lace. Pretty purple polka dots...
Two years ago with surgery after surgery, I wasn't eating as much. I was outside more. I looked pretty darned good. I didn't ride this summer. I sat around more eating crap. Large amounts of processed foods, and high sugar items make me hurt all over. I still eat them. Damn Dairy Queen for having a restaurant just up the road from my work. I drive past it all the time on the way to the thrift store looking for that great gadget or bargain I just can't live without. Damn me for not having any shred of will power enough to keep driving on by instead of pulling into parking lot and tying on the feed bag.
I started jogging. Actually it's more like a fast walk with a shuffling bounce. It starts out as jog. I don't get very far before it turns into a shuffling bounce. I'm doing it though is the thing. It's only been three times now in a week. It's about 275 ft down my driveway and a bit longer than that up the dirt road to Dave's pasture out back. Walk a little to catch my breath, and then jog back up to the house. I looked it up on Google maps. I have to do that 10 times to be a mile. I'm roaring and heaving to catch my breath at the end. My legs feel like jello, but dammit it, I'm sick of looking like I do. The only way to fix it, is to do something about it.
My short term goal is to jog down to Dave's and then back to the house without stopping. Longer term is to make it the whole mile. I want to work out in the pasture moving irrigation pipe without getting winded. I want to go galloping across the desert and not want to stop before the horse does. I want to feel good, and feel good about myself. Baby steps.
What if I ended up somewhere, or in a situation where I had to travel a pretty fair distance? Work is 30 miles from home. Most people think they can walk about a mile in about 10 minutes. Sure. A mile. A single mile. After about 5 miles the average couch potato is looking for a place to sit and rest. They've been walking for about an hour and a half or so, their feet are killing them, their legs are tired. After they've sat their feet are a little swollen, and hurt three times as much after they get up and start walking again. It isn't going to take 30 hours to walk 30 miles. It's going to take three days, being reasonably out of shape. It's time to fix my out of shape.
I make people laugh by getting excited about little things around the farm. I got to watch a chicken lay an egg the other day. I watched one of the Easter Eggers lay her first egg. I know it was her first because I've seen her going in and out of the condo the last few days like, "I know I'm supposed to be doing something in here. I feel like I should be in here. I just don't know why yet." I've peeked in on her settled down in a nest box, only to get up and walk out.
I cracked the lid on the box the other day, sat down on a bucket and she obliged by pointed her feathered butt at me and popping out the first green egg I've seen from one of my hens. It was a little teeny green pullet egg. I was all excited. I brought it in and showed it off to Scott and Connie. I think they were more excited for me being excited, than they really were about the egg. Oh they sure thought it was nifty that we got our first green egg, but I was silly excited about it.
I'm not hugely heavy. Not morbidly obese. The is just more of me than I wish there to be. HA HA, I rhyme. I have gained weight though, especially this summer. It isn't healthy. I don't feel good, or feel good about myself. My joints hurt more and more often. The tendinitis in my elbow has been kicking my ass. I get tired easier. I can't do as much outside Work, and I've gotten weaker.
I'm about 20 pounds overweight. My pants don't fit right. My boobs are ginormous and don't fit in my cute bras. Why do they only make cute bras in sizes for people with no boobs? What, big girls don't want to feel sexy too? They're going to be nekkid and under the covers with the lights out before they let their man come out of the bathroom? Big bras come in beige, white, and black. BORING! I want hawt pink, and turquoise. Something with lace. Pretty purple polka dots...
Two years ago with surgery after surgery, I wasn't eating as much. I was outside more. I looked pretty darned good. I didn't ride this summer. I sat around more eating crap. Large amounts of processed foods, and high sugar items make me hurt all over. I still eat them. Damn Dairy Queen for having a restaurant just up the road from my work. I drive past it all the time on the way to the thrift store looking for that great gadget or bargain I just can't live without. Damn me for not having any shred of will power enough to keep driving on by instead of pulling into parking lot and tying on the feed bag.
I started jogging. Actually it's more like a fast walk with a shuffling bounce. It starts out as jog. I don't get very far before it turns into a shuffling bounce. I'm doing it though is the thing. It's only been three times now in a week. It's about 275 ft down my driveway and a bit longer than that up the dirt road to Dave's pasture out back. Walk a little to catch my breath, and then jog back up to the house. I looked it up on Google maps. I have to do that 10 times to be a mile. I'm roaring and heaving to catch my breath at the end. My legs feel like jello, but dammit it, I'm sick of looking like I do. The only way to fix it, is to do something about it.
My short term goal is to jog down to Dave's and then back to the house without stopping. Longer term is to make it the whole mile. I want to work out in the pasture moving irrigation pipe without getting winded. I want to go galloping across the desert and not want to stop before the horse does. I want to feel good, and feel good about myself. Baby steps.
What if I ended up somewhere, or in a situation where I had to travel a pretty fair distance? Work is 30 miles from home. Most people think they can walk about a mile in about 10 minutes. Sure. A mile. A single mile. After about 5 miles the average couch potato is looking for a place to sit and rest. They've been walking for about an hour and a half or so, their feet are killing them, their legs are tired. After they've sat their feet are a little swollen, and hurt three times as much after they get up and start walking again. It isn't going to take 30 hours to walk 30 miles. It's going to take three days, being reasonably out of shape. It's time to fix my out of shape.
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| Bottom right and second from the right in the next row up |
I cracked the lid on the box the other day, sat down on a bucket and she obliged by pointed her feathered butt at me and popping out the first green egg I've seen from one of my hens. It was a little teeny green pullet egg. I was all excited. I brought it in and showed it off to Scott and Connie. I think they were more excited for me being excited, than they really were about the egg. Oh they sure thought it was nifty that we got our first green egg, but I was silly excited about it.
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