Barfing on Your Shoes

So, if something has a $325 price tag on it, isn't it reasonable to suppose you won't get it if you offer $60? Two weeks ago I went to a silent auction to support Monkey Boy's soccer team. They had all this stuff, absolutely none of it I needed or even wanted. However, there was one item that I thought, "Well, I need to drive the price up on this one since right now there is a $300 difference between list price and sell price." And, thus I began my run down the pathway to hell.

Much to my horror and despite two hours passing during which every single person in that room let me down, I left the auction as the owner of an exercise Boot Camp. I have been in hysterics ever since. I can make myself laugh out loud whenever I think about this. With the exception of pedophiles, food from Taco Bell, and the hunting of elephants, there is not much on this planet that I hate more than exercise. I GUARANTEE that if hell is what you hate most, I will be mopping while on a treadmill while chatting with someone who wants to talk about programming languages. I hate exercise. The only things that would make me exercise is 1) the threat of having to wear a bathing suit on Oprah 2) them having to remove a wall to get my fat butt out of the house when I was dead if I don't lose weight or 3) paying for said exercise.

So, I downloaded the nifty packet that comes with LOTS! OF! EXCLAMATION! POINTS! and threats. If someone else wakes up with a hangover and doesn't show up, then *I* get to do extra sprints. If someone in my class turns up dead and that classmate has skipped a class, I guarantee you should consider me a suspect. The only thing that gets me out of this class is THUNDER. Snow, rain, dead family members, and boils on my butt are not excuses. AND we get to do it M-F, with for those willing, a FREE!!! Saturday class thrown in. Oh, the joy. And I have to write down every single bite of food I put in my mouth. I guess I need to eat all my Girl Scout cookies this weekend before they give me the log book.

So, they give you four free classes so you can get in touch with your inner masochist early. I went to one of the warm-up classes yesterday. A woman who was way too happy was leading the 6:00 class (note to all - those people are crazier than me) asked me if I was excited to take this class and I said honestly, "I would rather have dental work done without medication." She blinked a couple of times and left me. So, I got to be the fat, slow, old girl at the class yesterday. I did not die and I am able to walk without moaning today, and I am going back tomorrow morning. And be the slow, fat girl again. I am hopeful for a couple of things - the promise of dropping a clothing size that the literature promises and that elusive "high" that other people seem to get when they exercise. The only "high" that I have ever felt when exercising was when it stopped and I could lie on my back and watch the pretty clouds pass overhead. My friend, Chris, compared a good exercise high to great sex, but I know for a fact he is insane so I am going to ignore him. Have you ever seen a runner smiling? Except after they have stopped? Nope, me either. They all look like they are trying to have a painful bowel movement.

I am done now. Pray for me over the next month.