I hate to tell you what I weigh so I won’t. Not only am I lazy, but I lack the moral courage of so many of my fellow 43Thingers. Not giving any numbers, let’s just say do the words “Pillsbury Doughgirl”, “white”, and “fluffy” mean anything to you? I have wanted to be fit year after year. Frankly, I HATE vacation photos, but apparently not as much as I LOVE chocolate. (Sigh!) But aside from the anticipatory dread when I contemplate this summer’s vacation photos, we are going to do a lot of walking in London and I shudder to think about that, also. I know I can’t make it totally to where I want to be by July, but I can make progress, right?
So toward that end, I have been reforming my eating habits (although I did have a major sugar relapse last week during the Valentine’s Day sweet orgy we had here at the office!) and I have also ordered something (yes, I can be a sucker for infomercials) called (I blush to admit this) “Yoga Booty Ballet”. I mean, just the name alone is enough to make me feel virtuous and silly all at the same time, but it looks like loads of fun and I am really not one to get out and run in circles on a track (too boring) or play tennis (no hand-to-eye coordination) or go to a gym (allergic to spandex and exercising next to super-fit people) or anything like that. But give me music and some fun dance movements and I’m pretty much hooked. So I am hoping that my Yoga Booty Ballet will be as much fun as it looks like on the infomercial because frankly, at the moment, I feel more like “Yogi-Bear-Sized Booty and Belly” and that is certainly no picnic!