I was dying.
At least, I felt like I was dying.
I huffed and puffed up the tiny hill and reminded myself why I was doing this.
So I don’t scare people on the beach in my swimsuit!
A bead of sweat slipped down my back. Ew. So what if I scared people in my swimsuit? If Borat could traipse around in that green thing he put on, who cares about my cellulite and my jiggly thighs?
I had to keep going. I could do this. It was just a mile. I used to run the mile in high school in 7 minutes. Walking was no big deal. Of course, I was fit in high school. And now…well, I know I’m not fat, but I wouldn’t exactly call myself fit.
“Walking sucks,” I breathed out, slurping down some water from my bottle. A man jogging past gave me an odd look. What? Don’t people talk to themselves while exercising? Or perhaps that’s just me.
I didn’t want to be the fat one during our annual family reunion. All my cousins are skinny. It would be lovely if one of them could be overweight, but no. One of my cousins popped out two kids and you wouldn’t even know it. She doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her. It’s just not fair. Why didn’t I get those genes?
Then again, she probably doesn’t love fast food like I do. I’ve only ever seen her eat fruits and vegetables and tiny portions during meals. And then there I am inhaling the chocolate that I insisted be included and going back for seconds.
I wear tankinis on the beach. No bikinis, because yikes. My stomach is covered in stretch marks and looks like a deflated ball. I’d worry people might think I was diseased if I exposed it. Then I’d be like, “No, not diseased, my minions just stretched me out as much as my skin could go.” Especially Natalie, which isn’t surprising considering her temperament.
“Keep walking,” I mumbled. “Just keep walking.” My face was burning. I was sure it was bright red. It didn’t help that it was nearly 100 degrees.
I kept moving and when I made it back to my house, I sprawled out on the living room floor. The blast of air conditioning felt superb. I didn’t want to move but I had to get up and finish packing for the Texas trip. I’ll be there until the 14th so I had to ensure I had proper clothing.
Only…I had to get myself off the floor.
“Walking bad,” I said into the carpet. I need to hire a personal trainer who will scream at me to get off my ass. I’d probably cry, but at least I’d be working out.
Is Jillian Michaels for rent?