Three Little Words

When I first began shedding the baby weight, the questions started.  "How did you do it?" "Wow! What are you doing?"  Everyone and their sister wanted to know my "secret."  And were sorely disappointed when my answer was simply "TurboFire."  Because that wasn't easy.  It meant they would actually have to put effort in to get results.  When I told them my ancient exercise secret, most were honest.  "Oh.  I was hoping for a magic pill of some sort."  Seriously.  That, dear Readers, is a direct quote and a serious reply.  Arrrrggghhh!  It makes me just...well...CRAZY.


My response to "diet aids"

Partially because (cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye if I'm lyin') I would continue to work out even if I had Giselle's genetics.  (I'd still like them, so if she's willing to hand 'em over, I get first dibs.)  I love the rush of a good workout, the feeling of accomplishment and hard work that only comes after I've given that session every drop of energy I've got.  I love the strength and the power I attain from training and the way it makes me feel like an athlete for that one to two hours every day.  I wouldn't trade it.  And am continually baffled by those who find it more rewarding to sit on the couch with reality tv and a plate of the latest sugary Pinterest recipe.  You don't have 60 minutes to devote to a better mood and better health????  Shutchermouth.  (No, really.  Shut it before that cookie gets in there.)

It also makes me CRAZY because people are still looking for that "magic pill."  They're like Ponce de Leon searching for that fountain of youth and beauty - which, by the way, is EXERCISE.  You want to look younger, stronger, leaner?  Sweat.  There's your pill.  Problem is, you just don't wanna swallow it.  I don't care if the label reads "all natural." Bottom line: it doesn't work.  Often the main ingredients are caffeine and green tea.  Drink 'em.  Much cheaper, same benefits. 

They don't even SPELL correctly!

 I am amazed at the effort and money spent on products that claim you don't need to exercise or eat healthfully.  The time it takes you to drive to the store?  Walk around the block.  That money you just squandered on thinly veiled placebo?  You could have ordered Shakeology.

(Another reason to love Beachbody?  No empty promises or extra hype to make something more than it really is.  The programs work if you do them.  Shakeology is a supplement, not a cure all.)

Psst...wanna buy a pill?

Suddenly, it seems everywhere I turn I hear or see the Obesity Epidemic.  And I feel angered and saddened, especially when I see clearly overweight children with ice cream or bags of chips.  If you saw a malnourished child, thin and frail and weak...you'd be angry too.  You'd want to admonish or report that parent.  Overweight children are malnourished as well.  They will grow to be weak, out of breath, with poor heart function.  Just like their adult counterparts.  It's a cycle, and our kids learn from us.  As parents, you love your children.  What do you want for them?

Let's all say it together: "Decide.  Commit.  Succeed."  Three little words.  Big results.  No magic, no pill.  You need willpower, effort, and sweat.  If I can do it, I know you can do it.  I know because I was lazy.  I was a chainsmoker, a junk food junkie, and a couch potato.  There was a time I couldn't even jog a slow mile.  Go ahead, ask me how I got from there to here.  I'd love to tell you.

If you're buying a diet pill, may I also interest you in this fat-reducing bridge?

Let's Go Crazy

Yesterday, the heavens parted and a special kind of golden light shone upon my back porch.  For there, in what to all others appeared an ordinary shipping box, sat my long-awaited Insanity DVD's.  Listen...do you hear them?  The angels are singing a celebratory workout hymn.

Today, they shut up.  They couldn't speak either.

Because, holy motherf*#kin' SHIT.  (That's me talking now, not the angels.)  That was the most incredibly difficult 45 minutes of my Fit Life.  I mean, even harder than when I worked out live with Shaun T in Bangor.  (No seriously, dude came to Bangor.  How crazy is that?)  The warmup was tougher than any Cardio X in its entirety.  So, yeah.  I'd say I'm gonna get my money's worth.

I am drenched.  That is typical of any workout, as I tend to shine with effervescence after a simple stroll to the fridge.  (I have been informed this indicates a fitter Queen overall; my body is just awesomely efficient at cooling itself due to its recent upgrades in exercise.  I am so fit, in fact, that even my dogs wrinkle their noses if I get too close post-workout.  And Otis regularly sniffs his own farts with pleasure.)  I am also energetically EXHAUSTED.  By which I mean, I could not eke out a single extra burpee or pushup, but I still feel charged and AMAZING.  Make that AMAZING.  That was hard.  But I DID IT.  So, uh...boo to the YAH, my friends.

I am tremendously excited to discover just how much more efficiently I will be cooling myself when the 60 days is up.  My guess is, a single breath and I'll need a new shirt.  But I'm also guessing I'll be able to stop a bus with my abs. 


So I guess the only REAL question is...WHO'S WITH ME???  I mean, I will go it alone if I must...but then you'd all just be jealous of my relationship with Shaun T and your inferior body cooling system.  There's a challenge group starting in just two weeks...I highly suggest you all go crazy and sign up. 

Get Well Soon...

There are a few topics that get me all fired up.  Human rights abuses.  The obesity epidemic.  The continued existence of McDonald's.  The last season of Roseanne.  But today's topic is women bashing other women.  Whatever happened to sisterly solidarity?

Turns out, a lot of my female facebook friends are heavily entrenched in the fitness world.  Whether they instruct, compete, or simply work out to work out, they are lovin' the Fit Life.  That makes this blogger smile from ear to ear.  It would seem, however, that it makes others grimace as though they have just eaten their own excrement.  So here's my question: how come?

I have read multiple status updates from the Fit Gals detailing the rudeness of other women.  As in, they (the FG's) are subjected to snide remarks for wearing workout clothing while on errands.  As though workout wear were akin to pasties and 4" stillettos.  Let's turn the tables for a moment, if only in our imaginations.  What if I told the woman with a mouthful of Big Mac that I found her abuse of Lycra offensive?  Because that is far more revealing than my compression shorts.  Or how about the woman complaining that sports bras are inappropriate (even when worn under zip up hoodies)?  I find your lack of support (as in, your bra is overtaxed by the enormous job you've given it) is leaving far too little to my imagination.  But those comments would be considered "discrimination." 

Even more irritating are the nasty whispers about women who "strut."  Her confidence does not have to undermine yours.  Her positive attitude is not an attack on your negative one.  Perhaps if you focused more on yourself and less on that proud and happy gal walking with her head high and shoulders back...well, perhaps you'd be able to find a reason to strut yourself.  If you can't, would you mind just shutting up?  You're ruining it for the rest of us.

And please...for your own safety...do not ever tell me to "eat a cheeseburger."  If I want one, I'll have one.  My diet is my choice.  If you'd rather I don't tell you to "eat a salad, for health's sake!" then I highly suggest you keep your misplaced comments to yourself.  See, you can tell the difference between "fit" and "skinny" if you would just take off your green-tinted glasses for a moment.  Even better...put down your cheeseburger and join us Fit Gals.  We'd genuinely love to have you.

I'm all about self-love no matter what your body type may be.  I love my curves and don't plan on losing them.  But curves are one thing; a complete orb is another.  End the obesity trend and I bet your attitude toward Fit Gals will end as well.  You may even find yourself strutting right past that cheeseburger stand in your sports bra and running shorts, leaving a wake of jealous whispers and finger pointing behind your back. 

Slight Variation...

Today marks Day One of Serious Spartan Training (to be henceforth knows as SST).  Serious for me, at least.  I have yet to reach the level of Beast that I do so long to reach, but I'm climbing the steps to get there.  So what did I do today, you ask?  I am gonna tell you.

Today I ran my fastest Short Loop EVER.  (The Short Loop, if you recall, is what Hubby and I have named the 3.7 mile circuit near our house.)  I ran that sucker in 33:52 using 9:1 intervals.  And to be completely honest, my body didn't need those minute breaks.  My mind needed them just to keep things interesting and varied.  You see, that zen state where I forgo intervals just cannot be reached in a mere 33 minutes.  I need more than an hour, and today I did not have that kind of time.  (Or more importantly, that kind of water supply.  Once I was out there, I was very tempted to head out for the Medium Loop.  If I'd taken water, I wouldn't be back yet.)  So anyway - back to my point...what was it again?  Oh yes!  I'm speedy!  Well, I'm speedy for me.  I averaged a 9:07 minute mile, well under my typical 10:30.  So that's exciting.

I bet you're thinking I was done after that.  But you're wrong.  I ran right to the shade of our trees and did 50 static lunges on each leg.  Then I dropped and did 20 pushups.  Came inside, grabbed some water and a banana.  Did 12 burpees.  Now I'm done.  And I feel SPECTACULAR!  I love a new routine and I love kicking ass.  This totally works for me.  Which is really handy because I plan on doing some version of it three days a week until I start the Insanity Challenge.  (Speaking of which, I really need to come up with a cooler name for that.  Feel free to hit me with your ideas.)  I do believe I will require Hubby to hang that rope in the backyard so I can begin climbing practice after my runs.  Which means gloves to protect my dainty little paws...which means shopping...Oooh!  This IS a great day!

Less than a month to go until the Spartan.  Expect more posts like this one.  You know, extolling the awesomeness of me and my workouts.  I know, I know.  But it's a variation on the theme.  Now I'm not just running, see?  Variety.  It's the spice of a Fit Life.  Sprinkle some on your plate, why don't ya?

"I'm Buffy. You know? The Vampire Slayer?"

I am a proud waver of my dork flag.  I loved my tour of Graceland.  I read the entire Traveling Pants series (in my 30's).  I can quote Caddyshack verbatim.  And I am a full-fledged citizen of Sunnydale.  You know, Buffy's hometown?  That's right, the Slayer.

See, right now you are doing one of two things.  Rolling your eyes or clapping your hands in unmitigated glee.  Because that show is a divisive topic.  But come on, it's a great motivator for me, too!  Whatever your feelings about the crazy plots, the vampire love stories (Angel would slaughter  that glittery skinny-jeans-wearing Cullen boy), or the frequent visitors from other dimensions - you gotta admit, Buffy herself KICKED ASS.

Season 1 Buffy

Just look at her body transformation between season one and season two.  Sarah Michelle must have put some serious gym time in to garner those muscles.  And she only got leaner and meaner as the seasons wore on.  Her fight scenes certainly trump a lot of scenes I just watched in the Avengers.  (Although I was quite pleased with Black Widow's bad-assedness.)  I cannot get through an episode of Buffy without wanting to pop in Kenpo or TurboFire.  No lie, I sometimes envision my little old self as the Slayer when I'm choppin' through a martial arts-inspired sweat session.  (Remember that flag I spoke of?  Waving it nice and high right now.)  No wonder her butt was so firm.  High kicks and roundhouses will do that to ya.  (I still have a few more to go before my butt feels as Buffy-like as my imagination does.)

Season 7 Buffy

Faith was pretty badass too.

Plus, I love fitness with a purpose.  I know - all fitness has a purpose and that purpose is health.  And that's great.  But I really enjoy the idea of the strength I'm creating and maybe one day using it to prevent the apocolypse.  Admittedly, I probably ought to take a martial arts class to up my chances of Slayer-dom.  So I'm looking into that.  For me, fitness is a journey.  I may have my soulmate workout all squared away, but it doesn't mean I can't branch out every now and again.  There's always another level, and I'm always going to want to reach it.  My newest level?  Buffydom. 

**(Just in case you're wondering what brought on the sudden Sunnydale attack, my daughter recently decided to start from the beginning of the series and work her way through to the end.  With some episodes saved for a later date, as I don't believe she's ready to learn - nor am I ready to explain - what exactly stole Angel's soul.)

Then agan, Buffy wouldn't have needed Angel to slaughter Edward...:)

First Degree Murder

Totally guilty.  Book me, Dan-o, because I JUST KILLED MY WORKOUT.  That was the hardest I have worked since before my marathon.  Go ahead, ask me how I feel.  FAN-F#$KIN'-TASTIC.  I haven't felt that way since before my marathon either.  Because I have also been guilty of...*gasp*...slacking.

Yes, even me.  I slack.  I have slacked.  I was slacking.  I hate to admit it or say it out loud, but it's true.  I lost that workout focus, even with the Spartan looming ever closer and my QiDance debut coming up.  Not only was I not pushing myself as hard, I was allowing my diet to creep dangerously close to its old menu.  And I'm supposed to be setting the example, right?  Bad coach.  Bad, bad coach indeed. 

Thank the gods of sweat that the "coach" was already established.  Because that's what got me back here today.  That's what made me push play on two ultra challenging workouts back-to-back.  And then add in a little QiDance practice after.  Abs are on tap for later tonight (because I just know Hubby wants to do them with me).  I know people are looking to me for advice, and I can't just dish it out.  I gotta take it.  So I did.  Once again, thank you, Beachbody.  And thank you, readers and SweatItOut followers.  You have kept my muscles from goin' soft. 

And that's the other awful part: when I lessened my effort, my muscles weren't the only part of me affected.  It's like my brain went soft with relaxation.  Sounds good.  Isn't.  Instead of bangin' out goals on a daily basis, I was instead devoting more time to DVR and Zynga.  Ew.  I narrowly missed turning into a Facebook-game-playing-donut-eating mass.  If I ever invite you to a game of Farmville, you'll know something's amiss.  Thankfully, I pulled myself right outta that trap and am once again full of clarity and ass-kicking intentions.  Fair warning, I'm likely to be posting a lot more.  So if you've been missing all those opportunities to stalk my ever-changing hair, body, or workout schedules, here's your chance to catch up.  Enjoy!

Hot Enough For Ya?

I predict I will hear each of these sayings over the next two days:
"It's a real scorcher."
"Hot enough for ya?"
"It's not the heat. It's the humidity."
And I expect mulitple variations of each.  Watch for my face on the news.

Actually, I typically enjoy the heat of summer.  I will lodge my complaints when the snow starts, but for now, I'm a fairly happy gal.  I am lucky enough to have an air conditioned living room in which to get my sweat on, so no worries about dehydration, sunstroke, or just feelin' too damn hot.  Well, I'll feel too damn hot, but a completely different sort of hot.  I mean, that mirror is right in front of me the entire time and QiDance offers up some pretty sexy moves.  It's moments like these when I realize just how lucky Hubby is.

And as for the remainder of my day, when I'm not bustin' a move or curlin' a dumbbell?  I am lounging poolside (read: chasing the toddler in various loops from pool to towel to bathroom to pool to wherever the Big Kids might be playing).  For today, I have hidden four frozen bottles of water and four unfrozen bottles of water in our pool bag.  (My tirade about the pool's concession stand will commence right about...NOW.  Now that the place is open and hawking all manner of chocolate, colored sugar, ice cream, and fried meats, we are no longer permitted to bring our coolers full of fruit, veggies, water, or various other healthy items into the pool area.  They are attempting to force heart disease and obesity on us, their loyal customers year after year.  I sense a letter to the editor or a protest of some sort on the horizon.  End of tirade.)  Coolness and hydration are partnered with mulitple sunblock applications.  Because Fit Lives aren't just about working out and eating right.  It's about treating your body right ALL THE TIME.  Except for your birthday when there's chocolate cake and it's the really good kind.  Then you can treat your soul.

But you...You runners, you walkers, you bikers...I count myself amongst you, just not today, or tomorrow for that matter.  I saw enough racers taking the ambulance ride during my marathon for the reality of dehydration to hit home.  Please tell me you're downing the water like it's...well...water.  Please tell me you're slathering on the sunblock and wearing your ventilated hats and wraparound sunglasses.  I worry about you.  Without you, who would read my blog?  So take care of yourselves out there, ya little crazies.  Keep it short, keep it easy, and try to keep it cool. 

Ghosts of Fitness Past

I'll admit, I'm a sucker for advertising.  I really ought to set parental controls for infomercials and start wearing those horse blinders through department stores.  Of course, I am forever grateful to the late-night ordering that led me to Beachbody, but there were many pitfalls and stops along the way.  Not all of them were unworthy, but none kept my interest piqued for quite so long.  Let's take a gander at my ghosts of fitness past, shall we?

My earliest workout memory involves shiny spandex and high ponytails and muscles of steel.  Before I stood before my mirror to tease my bangs, scrunch my permed hair, or tuck-and-roll my stonewashed jeans, I crunched and squeezed with Tamilee Webb.  I longed to have her flat little tummy and tight little tush.  Alas, our mornings together, though beginning with much gusto, became infrequent and eventually nonexistent.  We never had an official breakup; there was simply a time when I no longer loaded that VHS tape nor packed it for my move to college.

The same was true for my thighmaster (yes, I had one).  I saw that commercial and thought, "How easy! I can watch TV and let my eyes glaze over while I create the perfect thighs!"  Damn you, Chrissy Snow, for creating such high hopes.  I cannot imagine how many squeezes one must do each day to attain those slender thighs, but I do know it was far more than I ever did.  Another advertising dream dashed, I stuffed the thighmaster under my daybed with my cassette tapes, never to be used again.

Things improved slightly in college.  I gained a fitness buddy and we developed a slight obsession with Kathy Ireland and everything she hawked in KMart.  (Did I mention that said university was located in rural PA and KMart was the closest approximation to a mall in our vicinity?)  We hopped through grapevines, pulsed through leg raises, and reached through stretches.  Kathy travelled with me to my first post-college home, but when I discovered gym life and a DVD player, she no longer made the cut.  Although, now that she is selling furniture, I find myself wanting once again to buy from her.  I suppose those fond memories of awkward toe taps and low-budget filming will always leave me with a soft spot for her.

Around this time I also developed a keen interest in tae bo and Billy Blanks.  This is where I began to actually work out - that is, when I stopped doing low-key and every-now-and-then workouts and started putting in actual effort and regularity.  And, coincidentally, began seeing actual results from my dedication.  I barely made it through my first tae bo session; within months, I was teaching classes at my local gym and pushing people to work harder.  So, thank you, Mr. Blanks.  To this day, I still enjoy the occasional sweat with you.

More recently, I (along with the rest of America) became aware of Jillian Michaels.  I found her so compelling that I purchased her DVD's, her book, and a treadmill with her voice.  Through following the regimen in Making The Cut, both Hubby and I found relatively quick results.  Alas, the time spent on food prep and travelling to the gym cut too severely into our time with the kids and each other.  We looked fabulous.  But we were ex-haust-ed. 

So what to do?  P90X!  And then Chalene!  And then Shaun T!  Bliss!  Sweet, sweet torture.  We are home; we can get results with an hour or less a day; we can do it whenever suits us.  No class schedule or childcare required.  No sharing space, no other people's sweat, no waiting for class to start.  We press play and we're on our way.  This...this is my key to working out.  Yes, it's popular.  Yes, I found it through an infomercial.  However...this is no fad.  These are actual exercises that work.  Plus, they're FUN.  We are happy campers here at the M&M Estate.

So, once again, I advise you to figure out YOUR soulmate workout.  Do classes motivate you?  Do you like the face time with a live instructor?  Do you need to squeeze your workouts into an already crazy schedule?  Do you wanna dance/lift/kick/punch/stretch?  Ask yourself - what is the most fun I've ever had doing a physical activity (hey! perverts!)?  THAT is your soulmate workout.  Still unsure?  Contact me.  I'll tell you what to do.  Because I enjoy being bossy like that.

queenie3431@hotmail.com
https://www.facebook.com/#!/queensweat

Keepin' It Local

Ah, summertime!  Sunshine, swimming, outdoor workouts...and fresh roadside produce!  I love that I can drive a mere ten minutes to do such a big portion of our grocery shopping instead of my typical half an hour.  This is one time of year when it pays to live in rural Pennsylvania.

I was tremendously excited at the prospect of a new market on the market - even closer than the one I typically frequent.  So the Bear and I hopped into the van and scooted over - to find merchandise and extremely minimal produce.  We were sorely disappointed but not about to abandon our cravings for fresh and local.  Off to Jersey!  (And that's not something we often say with enthusiasm around these parts.)

But Marshall's Farm Market is reason for excitement!  They have a beautiful little setup and incredibly tasty and bountiful selections to satisfy those wanting to shop out of doors.  We found piles of juicy red tomatoes; bushels of multi-colored apples; bags of plump cherries; baskets of ripe blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, and strawberries.  Hello, heaven!  Everything is reasonably priced, organized, clean, and incredibly fresh.  Not a mushy apple or tomato to be found.  There was no searching for an unbruised piece of fruit or a not-overly-ripe vegetable.  All we had to do was reach out our hands and grab.  Perfection.

Aside from the fantastic produce selection, they also sell various homemade items (we plan on returning special for those and will report upon tasting).  The Bear snagged an enormous pickle during our checkout and I have got to say, after sampling one teeny and one Jaws-size bite, that's the best freakin' pickle I have ever tasted.  Including PA Renaissance Faire pickles.  (I am an expert in all things on-a-stick.  Trust me on this.) 

To top off our very pleasurable outdoor shopping experience, the customer service was outstanding.  Smiles, pleasant exchanges, even a chuckle.  Which is nice after so many vacant stares in checkout lines or overheard conversations of breaktimes and leave times (always anxiously looked forward to as each cashier is always overwhelmed with the idiots in their lines...Ummm...hello?).  Side note: I have always had impeccable customer service at Wegmans as well.  That is my indoor food shopping heaven. 

So please!  Keep this stand profitable!  I do so want it to always be there, so close and so fabulous.  Meet us there this fall for the awesome Halloween setup (which includes free cider doughnuts and warm cider with the hayride *eyesrollingbackinheadwithecstasy*).  Or meet us there next weekend for more produce browsing and buying! 

Plus - now I'm even more ready for my run outside!  That sunshine is addicting and my day started off with plenty of Fit-Life-livin' moments: Hubby mixed up our Shakeology this morning (delectable as always!); did 200 squats to challenge my KickOffSummer Challengers; shopped the local produce stand and came away with good eats.  Look out, folks!  This chick is on a roll!

http://www.marshallsfarmmarket.net/

Earning It

You know what happens when you're so full of awesome it starts leaking out your pores? People try to steal it.  True story. 

Most of the time, it's quite flattering.  I get a rush of my own motivation when I learn others are motivated by this very blog right here.  Love that.  I feel all pumped up when new fans are added to my Facebook fan page and actually interact there.  That is fantastic.  And I jump at the chance to babble on and on about my Fit Life passions when people have questions about their very own fitness pursuits.  Adore this.  These are three of the reasons I choose to keep my accounts public.  So everyone has access to my awesomeness.  (And my business - don't forget to check out those hot little ads flashing to your right.)  All I ask in return is...don't be a behind-the-scenes stalker.  Don't twist all this positivity into bitterness.  You ain't gots ta be jealous - this club does not boast exclusive membership.  Everyone can join.

I'm gonna warn all you newbies now: when others see your results, they typically have one of two reactions.  1: "You look incredibly healthy! Tell me how you achieved such amazing results so I can do that too!" or 2. "You look incredibly healthy! I am very jealous and want to tear you down!"  See, most of you reading this fall under that first group, and I just love ya to pieces!  We're going places, you and I!  You've joined my KickOffSummer Challenge group; you've messaged me, FB'd or tweeted me, you've double-tapped my pics on Instagram.  You ROCK.  Keep motivating me, please!  You're doing wonders for my abs. 

Now you folks in Group 2...how come?  Haters don't have to hate.  And haters don't have to imitate.  See, we Group 1 people appreciate individuality.  You know the saying, "You were born an original...don't be a copy?"  That's good stuff, right there.  Learn it.  Know it.  Live it.  And relax.  Take all that energy you're expending on bitterness, jealousy, and cutting down and put it into a really fabulous workout.  Amazing things will happen for you!  Your shoulders will drop down away from your steaming ears; your frown will turn upside down; your entire ass will unclench.  And hey, we'll be right here with open toned arms, just waiting to crush you in fit hugs and slap your back with genuine praise. 

But until you make that forward step...you just motivate me.  You fuel my workouts.  Your disdain and surety that I can't do it makes me certain that I can.  My advice to you?  Until you reclaim your sanity, step aside so you don't get run over.  This here train...it's movin' at full speed and there ain't nothin' you can do to stop it.

Shake n' Bake, Baby

In case you are not aware, summer has begun.  The kiddos are home ALL. DAY. LONG.  The weather is HOT and HUMID.  Workout conditions are LESS THAN IDEAL.  Does that mean we don't work out?  Do we put our goals on the backburner?  Are we giving these questions any merit whatsoever?  I think not.

Myself, I love the heat.  I love the sun.  I love the being outside with minimal clothing.  However...running only happens when I drag my weary ass out of bed at 5 am (5:30 at the latest) or on the weekends - because Hubby is there to tend to all of our wee ones.  Seeing as how I plan to run my next marathon in September, I foresee the coffee pot percolating much earlier this week.  As for my non-run days...I am back to the ever-so-glamorous living room, navigating amongst the board books and myriad "guys."  Someday...someday...I will have my dream garage...

And when I say I love the heat...well, I love it when I'm basking next to the pool.  Okay, when I'm following the babe from one spot to the next around the pool.  But still.  I love the heat when we're playing with the dogs in the backyard or pushing swings at the park.  When I'm doing a HIIT workout followed by lifting...I am much more of an air-conditioned sort of gal.  I drop approximately 80,000 gallons of sweat (that's a conservative estimate) during any singular workout session.  I don't feel the need to take it up a notch by adding summer's warmth.  And I'm pretty sure anyone within an aromatic distance agrees.

So I may be bakin', but baby, I'm still shakin'.  I can't get out in the morning?  Then I wait till naptime.  I can't get that darn babe to sleep?  Then I wait till Hubby says, "Honey, I'm home!"  There are days I'm waiting until bedtime, but there are never days when I simply say, "I give up."  I removed those words from my vocabulary a long time ago, my friend.  And you should, too.

Heat, shmeat.  Time, shmime.  Too hot?  Go inside to the AC.  Don't have enough time?  That's crap and you know it.  You're never gonna find the time.  You have to make the time.  What is more important than your overall health?  Updating another status?  Pinning another photo?  Watching one more rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond?  (But hey, seriously...that's one freakin' funny show.)  You know how you schedule appointments, meetings, playdates?  Schedule your workout.  One hour of your day, tops.  Who can't carve out an extra hour?  Four kids.  Starting a business.  Returning to a career.  Still managing one to two hours 5 to 6 days a week.  You want to lay out your reasons for me?  Please do.  So I can tell you to shut it and get back to sweatin'.  Hate me now, thank me later. 

Now start shakin' and bakin', baby.  We got work to do!