Conspiratorial Lies

This didn't get posted yesterday as Blogger was apparently doing some maintinance which caused my page to be buggy most of the day. Thanks to all who came faithfully looking for a post.

This is actually reworked from a piece of an early post ~ trying something diff, let me know what you think.

In a world gone fitness crazy I have been left behind. To be truthful, it’s more that I’ve taken the liberty of sitting out. In fact there’s a bit of a joke in my family that I indeed believe sitting is a sport and if it ever becomes an Olympic event there is a gold medal with my name on it.

Oh that was then and this is now. I have reached that special time in my life where I have acquired grace, wisdom and a fat arse. So I have been forced to join the fitness quest in order that I may still enjoy my sitting. Having to wedge one’s fat bottom into the seat diminishes some of the joy of the sport. As does that popping noise when extracting your bottom from said seat.

Not so bad though if you consider that taking up some sort of fitness routine usually requires the accumulation of the paraphernalia associated with the activity. Which requires shopping so how awful can this fitness thing be?

So I begin by trying to figure out what kind of exercise is right for me. I make the mistake of asking a couple people their opinions and they strongly suggested running. They way they went on about it I thought it was going to be a religious experience with harps, flowers and fluffy clouds.

I’m sold. I go out buy a pair of running shoes that cost as much as a good used car, but it’s worth it, I’m talking change of my life here and I look so damn cute in them. I then buy up every pink and purple bit of spandex running apparel I can find. Of course you can’t run without the proper jog-bra and sweat-wicking panties too. Who knew that there are special socks just for running?

I’m a firm believer that you can’t get the job done right without the appropriate tools and so buying all this stuff was only going to lead to my shining success. In fact I am sure that I will be running marathons along side Diddy and Oprah very soon.

I am off and running.

And sweating. And wheezing and it’s not invigorating, exhilarating or any of that line of crap they sold me.

They Lied.

Still, I’m confused and convinced that there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m not doing it right.

Come on. It’s running. I’ve been capable of doing it since I was two. Albeit out of practice, but still.

Maybe I didn’t do it long enough. Two excruciating weeks later, it still sucks.

So I go out to see how other people do it. They’re not hard to find.

I study their form. Technique. Start noting what brand shoes they are wearing, their gear. Camel pack or water bottle? With a partner or without?

That must be it. A rookie mistake. I bought the wrong stuff. So I go and buy more stuff. All the stuff I can find.

Two more weeks of pain while I try out all the new stuff in every imaginable combination to find the magic formula and still no harps, flowers or fluffy clouds.

What am I missing?!?

Then it hits me. Square in the face. Not mine, THEIRS!

I stopped looking down at all that running paraphernalia and looked up at their faces.

They looked as miserable as I felt. All of them. Not a one had a smile, a look of inner peace or joy. They all looked like someone just stole their cookies and punched them in the gut.

They lied.

It’s just another bloody conspiracy like marriage and babies. People get suckered into it and instead of admitting how miserable it’s making them they try to take you down too.

Well I’m having none of it. I will be dropping all that running gear into the goodwill bin on my way to buy me some yoga stuff, organic cotton yoga wear, a mat……