The gym dilemma

Despite my lack of posts as of late, I've pondered topics to write about for some time. Before thanksgiving, I considered doing a "things I'm thankful for" post, but then I realized I should be thankful for those things on a daily basis, and that blogging about it tends to be a little overdone. I also considered writing about my new job, but then decided that my comments regarding some of my clients might get me fired. So, here I sit, writing a blog about the gym. What has my life come to?!

I'm getting married next year. Yup, that's right. I've found someone who is willing to put up with my snarky, sarcastic, often times bitchy self for the rest of our lives. He's a lucky soul, what can I say? Since he's no longer my sugar daddy (after all, I'm bringing home the big bucks with this new gig. We're talking at least $10 a week here.) I'll refer to him as my funny, trilingual, Jewish lovah. (Our kids will be thrilled to read that reference one day.) Anyhow, he's wonderful and all, but that's a whole other blog topic for another day. This one's all about moi.

In my quest to look as fabulous on the outside as I am on the inside for my "our" special day, I've realized that saying I'm going to the gym and actually removing my butt from the sofa and putting it on a treadmill are two different things. Que Anthony, the huge hulking teenager who is now going to push me to new limits. I need some accountability, and what better than a trained mixed martial artist than to get my ass to the gym regularly?! Poor soul has no idea what he's in for.

Today was my first session. I'm still able to walk, though I feel certain that will change in a matter of hours. I feel energized, motivated, and ready for the huge battle ahead of me. Of course, this may all change when I wake up in agony tomorrow morning, but that's what I have Anthony for-- he'll keep me on my toes. And if he doesn't, a certain Jewish lovah has offered to build me an obstacle course in our apartment and force me to do it daily. That in and of itself should be motivation enough to get my butt to the gym.


Here goes nothing. So help me god, I will NOT resemble a cream puff in my wedding dress.