There is a reason why this, “Holy-shit-I’m-turning-thirty” thing hit me at the corner table of the Barnes and Noble cafe. I was reading a stack of kill-me-now fashion magazines and I had a momentary and painful feeling that I might have internal damage from sucking in and pulling up. I’d be lying if I said the pictures in those rags haven’t completely distorted my idea of what’s beautiful–but I’d also be lying if I said fat is beautiful.
So my body image dysmorphia along with my lack of career, zero-balance savings account and overall diminishing will to live spawned my new positive attitude. If I can motivate enough to get in shape, hopefully I will gain some momentum and…like i said before…world domination.
The first few days are supposed to be the hardest until they become routine.
Day 1, angry exercise. I want to punch hamburgers in the face. I want to punch Vogue Magazine in the face. I want to punch my fat belly in the face. I want to punch Gisele Bundchen’s post-baby body in the face. I want to punch the Victoria’s Secret Catalogue in the face…
Days 2-3, everyone is looking at me. I’m not doing this right. Do I look ok? Are my sneakers right? Are they making fun of me? EVERYONE IS MAKING FUN OF ME IN THEIR MINDS! (I convinced myself that everyone running without thoughts of suicide was on the track team in high school and had been running marathons for years.) I am the only beginner and that’s why I have murder fantasies and contemplate jumping into the Hudson River.
Day 4, screw you guys. FUCK them, FUCK you, FUCK everyone who has a problem with my dumb-ass run/walk style and my stupid sneakers. Fuck the mothers and the runners and the strange old guy who is just BOOKING! Booking up the West Side Highway at 95-years-old. “You’re at death’s door,” I yell in my mind.
Day 5, no one cares about my fucking sneakers. (It was raining and I worked out in the free gym in my building. I waited until 10:00pm to ensure no one would be there). Fuck YEAH! Treadmills are easier than street running. E! Entertainment Television’s “Heiresses Gone Wild” is an infuriating motivator. Punch her in the face…and her and her and her.
WAIT, do I work out on a workweek kind of schedule or a real week… REAL WEEK–7 DAYS!