God, no one hates physical activity more than me.
But diet pills make me feel all woozy and like I’m on the verge of cardiac arrest. Yoga, I can dig, but the only classes I can make are at 6am on Monday and Friday – I know, it’s barbaric.
In an effort to get proactive, I set the DVR to record all episodes of Namaste Yoga. This morning, I dragged myself from bed, pulled my hair into a ponytail and stumbled downstairs. I started the coffee, shoved Eleanor out the back door to do her bidness, and turned on the TV. Yeah, Namaste Yoga doesn’t come on until 8:30am.
So I pretended to stretch, staggered around the living room for a few minutes, and grunted through 18 crunches. All in all, I say it was a win.