We live in the middle of the city, a southern city. It's NASCAR week, so our city center is about to be invaded with race fans. Here's the danger. If you lived here you would understand. Unless you are 20 something and currently in the market for your primary care giver (that's husband to southern women) you are not too worried about fitness. That is unless said primary care giver has more money than the average bear and you have to maintain a certain look to maintain him. But there's lipo for that.
What I'm saying is, in the south, for a 41 year old like myself, I'm fit. My dress size isn't in the double digits and my food of choice is not fried chicken, biscuits and gravy. I want to do better personally but the social pressure here to do so is minimal. If you take all this into account, then add NASCAR race fan wives, I look amazing. For the next week, while I'm battling the reformer, I will look out my window and see men and women alike wearing tank tops and jean shorts, sneakers, ball hats (some equipped to hold beer) and white sunglasses; all sporting bellies that my husband has horrible names for. Where's the incentive?
Luckily, we seem to have picked a place across the street from 20 somethings on the man hunt. So I think if I only go outside during dog walking time I should be ok. That's when they're in their full dog walking regalia of spandex. Showing off their "i've never had children and I don't eat carbs" bodies.
On your marks, get set, close the blinds!
No comments:
Post a Comment