So I started doing a Jillian Michael’s workout DVD a few weeks ago. There is sweating and gasping involved which is why I usually avoid exercise of any kind. Unfortunately, I’m getting to that age (aaaargh!!!) where I need to do something before I turn into one of those blobs from Wall-E.
But here’s the thing, her workout is one long series of jumping―jumping rope, jumping jacks, jumping up and down and kicking yourself in your butt― which would be okay except I’m over forty, have had a couple of kids, and gravity has worked its evil voodoo on me in totally bewildering ways. Jumping of any kind is now totally out of the question. As is laughing boisterously and sneezing while walking.
Of what dastardly disorder do I speak? Let’s just say the “adult underwear” industry (i.e. Depends) doesn’t make its money off the athletic, muscle-toned youth of the world. Oh gross! That’s disgusting! you are screaming as you try to expunge these words now branded in your brain. Well, boo hoo for you. Think how I feel! I’m livin’ it!!
Okay, I will concede that knowing this lurked in my future may have seriously compromised my ability to function but Jiminy Crickets! a little heads up would have been decent and kind and . . . oh, who am I kidding, some things are best left in the closet . . .