Guinea Pig on the Treadmill

Song Lyric of the Day:

Face to face, out in the heat / Hangin’ tough, stayin’ hungry / They stack the odds ’til we take to the street

Survivor / “Eye of the Tiger

So what was the highlight of the weekend? If you ask Rich, he would say that it was when I asked him to create a workout routine for me. See, he’s been on a big fitness kick lately (which is paying off) and last month he even took a course taken by licensed personal trainers. Turns out he’s been dying for me to ask for help in the workout department. As you know, I’m an intermittent exerciser (I have a great playlist, though). Today I mailed him my fitness wish list to help him start planning my workout regimen:

  • toned arms, improved upper-body strength (think Madonna only far less frightening)
  • stronger back (see above)
  • FLAT abs, preferably a six-pack
  • strong, lean legs that will result in …
  • … a higher, firmer ass
I really want to tone everything up. I still fit in and wear my honeymoon bikini and also still fit in clothes I bought back in high school and college (quality threads, one and all), but I could certainly look –and feel — a lot better in them. Besides, I finally splurged and bought a cool new skull bikini at Target to mix things up a bit, and I want to look really good in it. Am I willing to work really hard to get in the kind of shape I hope to be? You bet your ass. Never underestimate the power of vanity.

For a starting reference point, I’ve been told (and I like to agree) that my body type is very Milla Jovovich (pre-baby, at least). We’re the same height and have the same basic shape: not a lot up top but long and lean. Of course, she’s far more toned than I am. A lot more toned than I am. Like she could kick my ass in her sleep toned. You get the idea.

So now my fitness fate, as it were, is in my spouse’s hands. It’s a good place to be, and I know he’ll come up with a great workout regimen for me. I’m fully aware that if I’m going to get back down to my birth weight, I’ve got a long, hard road ahead of me. And as long as Rich doesn’t make me swear off pasta and pizza forever, we’ll be alright.

Image courtesy of a Google search that landed me on 1416 and Counting.

3 Replies to “Guinea Pig on the Treadmill

  1. First step: No pizza, soda, or doughnuts.

    🙂 I think birth weight may be pushing it. We're gonna change your composition, not turn you into Thumbelina!

  2. Hmmmm, does this mean no more walks to McD's? I guess I should stop tempting you and get serious about my own participation in our family's Biggest Loser competition, eh?

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