I started exercising again -- and by exercising I mean walking. Thankfully, that's all the doctors want me to do until my last incision is completely closed. So I walk on the treadmill at the gym and on the river trail with the dog. Pretty much even on the boring-o-meter. I would like to try something else -- like running, or all those cool classes at the gym, but I'm afraid. Because I am hopelessly uncoordinated. You know that episode of Friends where Phoebe runs around flailing her arms and embarassing Rachel? That's me. Then I fall down. At the gym I have fallen off the treadmill, the Nordic-trac, and the gyro-something. My mom says it's because I never crawled as a baby. Apparently, I was content rolling around and having people wait on me. Then I must have realized all the other babies were walking and thought I was missing something, so I got up and walked.
The only remotely athletic activity I have ever excelled in was high school drill team. And although our drill team rocked (state champs and third in the nation, thankyouverymuch), when you deconstruct it, drill team is just fancy walking. You gotta count, know your left from your right (a challenge for some, true), wave your arms around, kick, and walk (where, except for the unfortunate treadmill incident, I have always shown proficiency).
So I trudge on, coming full circle with my walking. But you never know, I may throw in some of my sweet drill team moves just to keep it interesting.
This is the present I bought myself for losing 30 pounds. Except mine is black and seems to have more embroidery on it. Otherwise, exactly the same. I look just like this in it too. Except I'm not blonde or anywhere near that skinny. It was ridiculously expensive, which is why it's a gift instead of just an impulse purchase (is there any logic in there anywhere?). At least it doesn't have writing on the butt.