Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Moments in Which I Am Truly a Spaz

My one and only real resolution for the year is to be healthier. This involves eating better, and exercising.
The eating better part is not a big deal to me. I'm not a big fan of chocolate or sweets in general so I don't mind not having them. And ok, exercising doesn't really bug me either but........

Mr X once foolishly said I looked like I was having a seizure while doing my pilates. Something about the way I was moving and the look on my face. And I kind of already knew I looked ridiculous (who doesn't when they're all sweaty and contorting themselves?) but I did not need to hear it.

Which leads me to my main point that as much as I sort of want too, I can't join a gym. All those equally sweaty people making those strange spastic faces? Or worse, working out and not making those strange spastic faces. No, instead they'd all be looking at me and thinking 'oh good Lord! Maybe we should call 911?'

Combine that with my natural grace and it's a recipe for disaster!

I can't even jog a mile on my own treadmill without falling off and that just doesn't seem like something I want to do in public. I fall down in my driveway enough I don't need a whole new crop of people thinking I'm a drunk.

Mr X got me a mini-stepper for Christmas as requested. It has those stretchy elastic pull thingies for your arms. The first time I got on and tried to use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping I punched myself in the nose and fell off the stepper. Mr X burst out laughing and chucked my shoe at him. It felt so Jerry Springer!

I no longer use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping.

I do yoga a few times a week. As spastic and clumsy as I am, I have a strange ability to contort myself in those odd positions. These are always accompanied by Seizure Face but hey, whatever. No one is watching but Cat (and he laughs) and Baby X.
Tonight Baby X did downward facing dog, followed by trying to balance himself in that position with his arms behind his back.

Mr X is now begging me to not do yoga in front of Baby X in fear that I will forever damage his boy-ness.