Workin' on my Fitness

He's my witness. To put them boys on rock rock. But I'm far from Fergalicious. My noodle arms are so weeeeak typing this post. And that's sad because I can only curl like 10 pound free weights. I'm a shell of my former self. The former self that worked out obsessively everyday in college and couldn't go on vacation unless I knew where the nearest elliptical was. Yes, I was THAT annoying.

My hammies are currently spasming. Over Memorial Day weekend I went back to the gym in earnest for the first time in more than a year. Sure I did a few Zumba classes here and there in the early days when I was pregnant with Emmy but after she came along, and work ramped up, going to the gym went so far on the back burner it was in my neighbor's kitchen.

The Good Doctor is leading the charge. Now that he's passed his exams, he feels so pretty, oh so pretty and witty and gayyyyy! It's a musical pro-duckzhizzle up in here, complete with split leaps and twirling. The doom and gloom of tests are behind him and now it's all about bringing sexy back.

So I can't just sit all Jabba the Hut with my Dibs and iPad after he comes home from the gym complaining he lifted so much he can't straighten his arms. He finally did. 3 days later.

I'm in it to win it. Not to put the boys on rock rock but to improve my chances of hearing Phil Keoghan say, "Vicky and Good Doctor, you are team number ONE!"

P.S. My flexibility is in a sad state of affairs. I used to be able to do the splits three ways. Thank you Taekwondo and cheerleading. Now if I can get them into a 45 degree angle in any direction, it's a miracle. If you see a small Asian woman grimacing in pain and looking like she can't possibly get off that Pilates mat, it's ok. Just leave me be. The muscles will stop spasming at some point.