This is the time of year I usually rant and rave about the New Year's Resolutioners overrunning the gym. If you're feeling this, just make it MLK without throwing anyone from the elliptical and they will go away. They always do.
This year, I'm not high and mighty about the gym because I haven't seen the inside of one since early 2012. I am, however, high and mighty about my inner fitness freak. She hasn't been a pain in the ass since '97 just for kicks! A true visionary, she saw the future and kicked into gear a strategy to better prepare us for its arrival. Times changed and she felt pressure to change direction, but being a wise female CEO, she stuck with it for over 15 years.
You see, without the gym, I haven't turned into a 300 pound sumo wrestler. Sure, my legs are a bit flabby and my abs more like jello than steel, but things are more or less under control.
All those early mornings and hours spent training for marathons finally make sense. They weren't, self-serving beads of unnecessary sweat, they were deposits in the workout bank, and let me tell you, I am rich! I can live off the interest, make modest deposits while I chase a one-year old around the house, and not have to see the inside of a gym for at least another year.
Thank you, fitness-freak self.
When college roommates laughed at your steadfast afternoon date with the gym, you charged on. When others said training for marathons was a bit overzealous, you picked up the torch. When you broke my body running, you subbed in crazy-ass workout sessions. While pregnant, you made us spin, boot camp, and swim like a whale up until Week 39.
I always knew you were crazy, m'lady but didn't realize, until now, that you are crazy like a fox. Thanks for scheduling this break. I'll see you at the gym in 2014.
Ps. There is supposed to be a picture here of me and my weight machine, but I can't figure out how to do this away from home so that will come later in the week. Mark your calendars.