I've been thinking about working out for a couple of months. Never was able to actually move myself. Even after having problems walking and sleeping, I just could not get myself to move.
But one Saturday, I had the urge to just go. Not think, just go. I walked in the gym, feeling embarrassed, bubble guts, and the "Oh Well I don't give a Fxxk attitude".
The warm up alone did me in, six laps around the gym, run up some stairs around the bend, down the stairs, pass the doors, around the gym, back to the stairs.
Shit. This is going to kill me!!! Had I known this was going to be my last day on earth, I would have worn my good panties bra, as my Nana would always warn me to always, always, always, leave the house with clean panties, and bra.
So far, I've stuck to the workout regimen, of which, I absolutely love. I love working out. I love lifting. It's the best thing that I've rediscovered. My paying close attention to my eating this month, I'll lose my 10 pounds. Weigh in is next week. wheewww. the anticipation.
Talk to yall later.
Crys
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