Yesterday, I mentioned my obsession with fitness devises. Presently, I own or have custody of:
a Tony Little Gazelle
a Health Rider
an exercise bike
a street bike
a weight bench with requisite iron
a kettle bell
an exercise ball
a rebounder (mini trampoline)
a pair of walking poles
Two exercise bars for aerobic breathing workouts
I have owned at least an equal number of other devices that have been long since sold off at garage sale prices.
I can tell you with absolute certainty that the purchase of these products does not correlate with weight loss. You actually have to use them to achieve a weight-loss outcome. In my house, they take up space, gather dust, and occasionally serve as drying racks or clothing trees, but they do nothing for me. I have to use them to achieve anything. I am beginning to wonder if my inability to develop the discipline to use these devices on a regular basis is greater than my desire to be thin.
Even as I write this, my quads are screaming in agony from my latest purchase. Yesterday morning’s workout of forty squats with a 10-lb kettle bell almost did me in. Hopefully the Tylenol and slathering of Icy Hot will tame the flaming quad pain enough so that I can get up and do it again tomorrow. I know, I know…I’m just a glutton for punishment. Sorry to say, I think the death marches also have to resume if I have any hope of dropping a few pounds before that reunion in September.
Unfortunately, the “Quest to Impress” doesn’t end with the reunion. My daughter has announced her intention of marrying in May of 2011, so my weight loss efforts will continue for months.
When my son got married, I begged him to wait a year. He didn’t. I bought a gorgeous black outfit for the wedding…well, it looked gorgeous on the hanger. I put it on and looked like Shamu in sequins. Although I weigh about 100 lbs less now than I did then, the thought of another album full of Shamu wedding shots has me cringing in my boots.
For years I’ve heard about women who search for the perfect “little black dress” to keep in their closets for that special occasion. I never had a “little black dress” with the emphasis on “little.” A while back, I was in Dillard’s and walked through the junior department (obviously on my way to shoes) and spotted my idea of the perfect “little black dress.” The original price was upwards of $120 but it was just hanging on this rack with an extremely discounted, end-of-season price tag of $18! It was an incredibly small size (5) and looked more like an overly long shirt than a dress, but I bought it anyway…inspiration, I told myself.
It’s been hanging in a clear plastic dress bag in my home office for two years now. All I need to do is lose another 70 lbs, followed by a circumferential body lift, upper arm and thigh lifts, breast reduction and lift. They might as well throw in a facelift for good measure…in for a penny in for a pound.
Barring those things happening, I guess I’ll just slit the dress up the back and put it away. I will wear that dress come hell or high water, even if it is one day artfully placed on my dead body in the casket.
Until that happens, we will be revisiting the kettle bell torture.