This was already established, and my repeating it doesn't change a thing, but I felt like getting it out there. In the open, for all to see. I'm not in denial.
I'm overweight, and I need to lose a few. Well, more than a few...more like 70 pounds, but who's counting, right?
.....right?
Argh.
Okay, so I've blogged about my love/hate...but mostly hate...relationship with my treadmill. I hate that thing. But I a compelled to use it for two reasons:
1.) Because I paid and arm and a leg to buy it, and threw a temper tantrum to talk my nerd into buying it for me. No really, I did. It wasn't pretty.
And...
2.) Because I want to see my kids grow old. I want to see my sons serve missions (like their dad did), I want to see my daughter graduate from college before settling down (the way I didn't), I want to hold precious grand babies in my arms and stuff them full of candy and buy them unnecessary items that will tick off their parents......and I can't do that if I've dropped dead from a heart attack.
Besides, post mortem book signings are really awkward, too. Or so I've been told.
So here I am...on the treadmill again. Walking while sweating profusely and swearing under my breath.
Okay. Out loud.
Okay...so I'm screaming obscenities while on the treadmill. I'm sorry.
Seriously...when I think about this d*mned treadmill, I feel homicidal. My frown casts a shadow over out entire house.
But.....
I will prevail. I will keep hoisting my large-marge physique onto that stupid thing every morning, and I will reach my goals. Even if it takes me a decade to get there.
I will dangle cheese in front of my face, if I must.
I will dangle him in front of my face, if I must.....
Ohhhh yesssss.........
*SIGH*
I hate my treadmill.
If I don't post a blog tomorrow, call the morgue. I passed out cold and died on the treadmill.
Brooke Moss.
