Dude. WTF.

You know how the gym is crazy busy right at the beginning of every new year? Everyone wants to pretend they love it, that they live for it.  Well, not me. I avoid it like the plague.

Sometimes I get stuck going during the busy times and if I can't find an easy parking spot I turn around and park it on my couch (or say I'll bust out some Jillian Michaels but really just do some crunches and leg lifts on the floor). But I have no desire whatsoever to be at the gym right now...and not just because it's busy.

The middle of January usually marks the beginning weeks of actually having legit time to spend at home reading, and I lazily soak it up with all that I can get away with...or for as long as I can tell my guilty conscience to shut the hell up.  I hold off on going to the grocery store (even Target), bathe in the lethargy of the winter afternoons and make awesome after-school snacks (mostly nachos). It's totally awesome.

I actually did make it to the gym twice this week and yesterday just did some cardio. I usually try to get in 5-6 miles at a time, but at mile 2 I began to hit a major wall. All of my energy was instantly zapped and my focus was on what to make for dinner, vacations, my current book, things that I can't say aloud...really anything except another half hour of the day's torture. But, somehow I made it to 3.5 miles for the day and I hopped off feeling sluggish but slapped my ass for a job well-done-good-enough. I did more than most people right? Hellz yes. Word. Ya heard?


But there is one person who makes me feel guilty. Every. Single. Time.

During dinner last night I made the mistake of saying that I only did 3.5 miles and that it was about 35 minutes of cardio.  He says, "Isn't that bad? I mean good that you did it, but sort of a bad time?"

Really? Seriously?

Yeah, it's bad... if you are in high school, not fat, running every day at practice and don't spend your free time drinking red wine and vodka, or making sure to have dinner on the table every night.

SAFO.