It’s time to face reality: I am not going to magically lose the lingering bit of baby weight. Our youngest is three now, so I’ve definitely given it enough time. I’ve tried all the popular fads: M&Ms Neolithic, The Oreo Fast, The Hershey AND the Cadbury, all for naught. The scale has not budged (in either direction, so there’s that). I’ve accepted this reality and have decided to take control of my health and fitness.
Yes, I’ve tried this before with varying results. I almost killed Bearded Husband with my bare hands when we attempted the P90X regime (and I would have done it, too, if I could have lifted my arms above my waist). Jillian Michaels can go shred herself. And Denise Austin‘s voice makes me sleepy.
That’s why I’ve decided to hire a personal trainer. I think the dividends will be worth it and I have found the perfect candidate.
Wish me luck!
Photo
Photo courtesy of Man on the Street, TW.
Bwahaha! She ain’t gonna take no shit off nobody! (Maybe it is time to switch to whole milk in the mac and cheese instead of the half-and-half? – just kiding, that is still your most genius idea)
I feel like I hit a home run with this one.
Yes, a personal trainer is the best, although I rid the last of my pregnancy belly with Billy Blanks. Holy goodness, I’ve never dropped so many f-bombs in my life during his bootcamp series.
I wish watching “Walking Dead” burned more calories.
Ha! Maybe she’ll teach you both the regular and disco versions of “churning the butter.”