Last week sucked. Adam worked all week and ended up sleeping at work most nights. I know, it's his job, suck it up lady, but I wish those wives who complain about their husband coming home at 6 p.m. knew exactly what my husband's job entailed, and the hours and hours he puts in that they have no clue of. (Is it still improper to end a sentence in a preposition? If so, um, I don't care.)
I veered sharply away from exercising. I didn't go to the track once. It rained, literally, every day. No doubt I could have used the treadmill, but I was in such a funk, I couldn't even muster the energy to bend down to plug it in. Yup, that bad.
This morning I didn't want to exercise. I made myself do it, though, because I seemingly have the body of Wonder Woman and notice results in just a day or two. Good genes, people, damn good genes.
What prompted me to get off my ass was reading US Magazine last night, and their whole 30-page spread of how celebrities keep in shape. Yeah, two hours a day, five days a week. I do indeed have that kind of time, but seriously, who the eff wants to work out for two hours a day? Oh, and don't forget the personal trainer, meals sent to their house, etc. They're telling me to eat healthy but in their world money is no issue and by golly, it sure would be nice to have prepared meals delivered to my door. My only hope of that is when I'm old and getting Meals on Wheels.
So, celebrities, you can all go suck it. You gave me the motivation to be able to do this all on my own. I will walk and run and Slip-n-Slide with my son and husband because I can. Take your thousands of bucks spent on looking fake and I'll be real, thank you very much.