Thank goodness, not that bad.

So, I went to my "new gym" today and walked two miles.

{I'll wait just a moment so that those of you who read that sentence and then fell out of your chairs in shock and amazement can get back up and join us again .... no, really, I'll wait.}

{whistling}

As you might remember, I've not had good luck with exercise programs in the past. To say the least.

The. VERY. Least.

Needless to say, my expectations for today were extremely low today, considering what colossal disasters some of my earlier attempts have been.

Anyway, the indoor track at this church gym is one of those little ones, that takes twelve laps around to make a mile. So I checked in at the desk, and got my little lap-clicker counter thing-y (why yes, that is the technical term .... I happen to know that because I am an exercise-professional) and took off walking.

I was feeling pretty good about myself at first because I lapped two ladies, then I realized that one of them was one of my high school friend's 80 year old mother, so really? Not so much with the feeling proud.

Then two of my new local friends (other school moms) came in and started jogging together, and lapped me pretty consistently, but I couldn't even be jealous because I know they are training to run a 5K and I have to admire their hard work.

But then, this college-age chickie came in and started running. Lapping me, lapping me, lapping me ..... when the track is only 1/12th of a mile, and you are a chubby walker, you get lapped fairly often by the runners. And every time she went by, with her slim, muscular legs, and small waist, and very un-bouncy rear end (much unlike my own, I can assure you) I started hating her a little more and a little more.

I tried telling myself not to feel bad ... she had obviously never had a kid, or had to deal with an old-lady-metabolism like mine .... or had probably never eaten an entire bag of Oreos at once, if we're being honest. But the cold hard truth is, I know plenty of moms my age who are in great shape, so my only real excuse is that I love food much more than I love exercise. On a scale of 1 to 100, it would be food = 100, exercise = a negative number. Some kind of very low negative number that they haven't even invented yet in the math world.

So I just kept walking, and grumbling to myself, and hating her more and more every time she lapped me.

Finally, my little click-y thing showed the magical number 24 which let me know I was done. I was sitting on a bench, sucking air (yes, simply walking two miles left me sweaty and breathless .... and I wasn't power walking either, but more of an ungainly striding motion) when Little Miss Skinny Pants jogged by, looked me right in the face, smiled, and said, "Hi, Kristie!"

Yep, it was my hairdresser. A sweet, friendly, cute young lady who I simply adore. The kind of person everybody just loves because they are so genuinely good-hearted.

And apparently she's athletic, too.

Man, I HATE when I can't even be mad at the skinny people.