Work It On OUt

I had this brilliant idea that wearing exercise gear all day instead of getting dressed would make me motivated to actually exercise. Now I just look like I should be frequenting Wal-Mart. I am pretty sure my clothing is going to get in a fight. There is something about brands that label their clothing with animals that appeals to me. So if the fox on my jacket and the puma on my shorts can’t work things out that’s their problem. This is some sort of sick addiction that happens once you stop getting dressed, as though there is nothing quite like living in a pair of sweatpants and going out to get the mail at 4:30 p.m. only to give off the illusion that I had just woken up even though I have been working all day.

I keep going to the grocery store all slob like too, never learning my lesson that every time I go there, I run into at least fifty people I know. I just want to explain to everyone that I clean up pretty well, but I don’t want to call attention to the fact that yes, I look like shit. Plus if you dressed up to go to the grocery store? Come on now, I have seen the goth girl that goes there in her stilettos, white painted face, purple and black hairsprayed helmet head put into place perfectly. All to get a snack? No thanks.
The fact of the matter is, I did start getting into the whole exercise thing again this year, but my body is not into it. I did turn into a little sweaty pig who is left a panting pile of jelly after just 30 mere minutes of intense workout, but then my stomach starts to growl and before I know it, I have downed a bag of something or another. I even got a gym membership. I used it a few times. But I am hopelessly addicted to Netflix Instant watch workouts and On Demand workouts on cable.

I tried a few embarrassing ones. Sometimes I am just strapped for time on lunch and in a panic I hit the first thing I come across like Flirty Girl Fitness. Oh. My. God. I am so glad I don’t have a stalker. If they peered into my window while I did that workout, they would have posted a note to my door that said something like “I’m sorry, I used to find you very enigmatic until I saw you putting your fingers into your imaginary belt buckles and whipping your hair around in an attempt to burn calories. You just made me feel sane, and I am going to retreat back to my life and never stalk again.” I even tried the Playboy Bunny workouts. No, not sleep with Hugh Hefner and milk him for all he is worth while pretending to be attracted to a mummy for a few years, though I am sure the effort of that alone would make any girl thin. I would have to say topping the charts of stupidity for fitness On Demand was the Carmen Electra workout which required YOU TO BE ON YOUR BED WHILE YOU DID IT. I made it two minutes into it and disgracefully walked to my sink in an attempt to drown myself in shame.

I think since we live in a world saturated with every possible element of any way to make money, that I have forgotten my friend good ol’ running. Sure I may flop my hands around all stupid like while I am doing it and shriek like a wounded animal, but at least it looks tougher than the how to get the body of a slut workouts that are all over the place nowadays. So maybe it is just time for good ol’ back to basics training. Conor and I had the idea to chug beer while running, or to eat a full bag of Doritos right before a workout, that way we would never want to eat or drink these things again. I think that is going to be my workout video that I market. It will be called Vomitcise.