Not bad for a fat girl

*Hello Treadmill, You Heartless Taskmaster

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treadmill-3101Well hello treadmill, how have you been? I know it’s been a while since I’ve stopped by, but here I am, so let’s dispense with the pleasantries and get on with it. Since I’ve last seen you I’ve had some rather uncomfortable surgery. I’ve been recovering for a while, and I’m ready to do a little exercise now, but don’t expect too much of me. Still, I feel better than I have, and I’m tired of wearing the same few things that aren’t excruciatingly tight on me, so it’s time we got reacquainted.

Funny thing is, when I had the surgery I kind of expected that my body would change, but not in the way that it has. It seems that all of the bulk has shifted down and now it’s impossible for me to wear most of my pants. Ugh. And my shirts aren’t nearly long enough to hide the hideousness underneath. It’s exasperating, so it’s time to get off my considerable butt and start doing something about it. I hate hauling all this weight around. It’s uncomfortable, unattractive, and generally a nuisance. The health issues are a factor too, of course, but nobody wants to hear all of that medical mumbo jumbo, least of all me.

Alright, so now I’m here, hair in a ponytail, t-shirt and shorts donned, neon green socks tucked into running shoes. The tiny room is way too hot to be comfortable, but I can’t move you, so I have to make the best of it. The ceiling fan is circling, a water bottle is propped up on you sweating like mad, and my newly downloaded training ap is ready to coach me. My son is in the room too, playing video games on a heat generating tv, and creating his own heat too.

sweat2Deep breath, and here we go. Start with a five minute warm up, says the ap. Ok, I’m walking, I’m walking. Do I really want to do this? Yes, I suppose I do. Oh no, now the ap says jog. I crank you up a few notches and make my feet move faster. When was the last time I jogged? I have no idea. Phew, now back to walk. This pattern continues for a while. Water bottle number one is drained and son has replaced it. At my panted request, a second fan has been maneuvered into place and pressed into service.  Still I carry on. You keep me going, faster, slower, faster, slower. At last, my little digital trainer tells me that it’s time to cool down. I push your buttons and you happily comply, easing me into a slower pace. But cool I am not. I am quite warm so I drink from my second water bottle and enjoy the breeze directed at my backside.

I thought it would be miserable. I thought I would hate it. It wasn’t, and I didn’t. It felt satisfying and productive. I know it was only the first one, the first little workout with my new training ap, but I’m hopeful that there will be many more. You will be seeing a lot more of me, treadmill.  We both deserve it.

*This piece was written several weeks and visits to the treadmill ago. FYI, that ap still kicks my butt but the treadmill and I are becoming friendlier to one another.

Author: BulgingButtons

I'm a middle aged woman doing the things that middle aged women do and trying not to beat myself up. I'm living the life I choose with the man I love, the grown up son who impresses me all the time, and the most adorable pup ever rescued from the euthanasia list. We live in the heat of the Southwest, where I regularly sweat through my Lane Bryant bras.

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