My cat wants me to be fat

15 May 2011 1 Comment

What with one thing and another, I’ve completely fallen out of any sort of fitness/weight loss effort.

And started eating sugar again.

Bad, very bad. Tasty, but very bad.

I’ve just about reached my ‘no tolerance’ point again, at which moment I will magically kick myself in gear and get back on track. I get to that point very slowly, so I have lots of time to mentally adjust to the fact that my life is going to suck again while I weed out bad habits and groan through character-building exercises like situps and skipping the bakery section in the grocery store.

Yesterday I acknowledged the inevitable and cleaned my apartment. Those warning sirens you heard, and all the Hazmat-logoed trucks you saw driving by? All me.

I’ve been busy. Perhaps a little less observant than usual. I had no idea the dust would rise up, rise up some more, and then attack the shedded cat hair. But now stuff is clean and I can open the curtains again without worrying that passing neighbors will report me to the health department. I’ve even found the carpet again.

That means I have room to start getting back into shape. Yeah, yeah. I have a gym membership. People go to gyms to get into shape. Here’s a secret: people go to gyms to get into shape after they are already in enough shape that they don’t have to worry about passing out on the treadmill next to the cheerleader who is sprinting while texting and not—this is important—breaking a sweat.

In other words: having found my carpet, I would like to spend a week or two finding my abs before I subject myself to public humiliation. Of course, this means I can’t open the curtains yet in case neighbors walk by and call an ambulance for me, but hey—if I wanted to open my curtains, I could.

Riding high on yesterday’s marathon cleaning session, I hopped out of bed this morning and prepared to do some exercises. Push—- oh, look at the cute kitty, rolling around on the floor, begging to be petted. Awwwww…. she’s laying on her back and wants her tummy rubbed (she chases her tail, too—this cat thinks she’s a dog).

Push up, let down, pet the cat. Push up, let down, pet the cat.

I have a feeling this is not a very effective exercise routine. Neither is sit up, lay back, push the cat off my belly, sit up, lay back, push the cat off my belly.

Or squat, untangle the kitty from my ankles, stand up, squat, untangle…

Now I understand. Gyms were created to save people from their pets. Onyx and I are clearly going to have to have a very long conversation about this, probably with her shut in the bedroom while I work out in the living room.

In the meantime, I hope my two and a half pushups, one squat, and three situps qualifies as a “start.”

It’s the thought that counts, right? I mean, I know exercising can’t be all mental… actually, it kind of is all mental, but not in an “It’s the thought that counts” kind of way.

Why am I doing this again? I think Onyx may have the right idea, here. Who needs situps when you can just pet a cat and lower your blood pressure instead?

Weighty Matters

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