B.)  I have a sort of complicated relationship with working out. And by complicated, I do mean OCD.  I may as well be scrubbing counters or tapping doorknobs or counting steps. I’m not buff by any means, but if I don’t work out at least twice a week, I go nuts. If I miss my spinning class, I nearly foam at the mouth. I think I am just really good at tricking myself into making things really important, for which I am grateful.

C.) With my new more flexible schedule, I am hoping to expand my exercise horizons, get out of my rut  – experimenting with things like pilates? Dance? Dance pilates? Yesterday, I took an afternoon spin class, which I expected to be empty or filled with aged trophy wives – but it was packed with eager, dedicated spinners who shrieked and wooped like small toys being sexually accosted. It was intense and inspiring. And maybe it was because the instructor kept smacking my butt a little bit, telling me to go faster (apparently, this is fine?) but I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard in a class in my life, and left the gym feeling fresh and capable: saying things to myself like, THE DAY IS MINE. I still don’t think I will ever be really skinny or buff, but I will at least be able to bike uphill for a long time, or lift watermelons over my head.

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