Professional wogger.

Lambs, this fitness thing sucks. As it turns out, I'm not actually very good at it. I really am a fat kid at heart but I also don't want to shop at Lane Bryant and that pretty much, is the only reason I'm trying to get all fit. Well, that and I'd like to not have a heart attack. I'm too awesome to die young and all that.

But tonight I went for a quick two mile wog (walking/jogging combination) and I've said this before, but the downside to having a bubble butt via genetics is that it's really a barrier to wogging. Or any physical activity in general. I can always tell how well I'm doing in my exercise based on how quickly my rear end stops moving when I do. Today, it moved for awhile yet. I could have taken out a small child if one were behind me.

The more concerning problem from tonight's wog was perspiration. Well, at the time, I really thought I had actually peed my pants .3 miles in. Which, is pretty awful considering I didn't even feel it happen. So then all of these scenarios play through your head like, why didn't I feel myself peeing my own pants? What kind of medical malady would that be indicative of? I decided to ignore it, despite a rash obviously developing on my thigh, because I had black spandex like pants on and I figured nobody could see so let's stay on side streets and finish it out.

So I did.

As soon as I got home I went to investigate the situation.

As it turns out, I didn't pee myself! Which is super good to know. What I did do was sweat. It was clearly sweat. Normally, just my boobs sweat which is weird, but today? My thighs! I think that's good, right? Maybe that means my very own thunder from down under is slimming up a bit. That's kind of great.

My next mission is to get some shoes that don't make me want to say all of the swears a mile in, some socks that don't blister my feet, and a freaking arm band to put my phone in. Not to mention a serious sports bra that clasps in the front. I have found three really great ones for under $50 but they don't clasp in the front and to get it off after a workout you are essentially dislocating your shoulders. I can't keep asking Matt to come help me get free. Last week I got stuck, which is awful enough, but then he proceeded to come into the bathroom and laugh until he couldn't breathe because he said seeing me with a sports bra half on and half off and my arms all wonky, I looked like one of those seagulls stuck in a six pack ring holder you see in ads telling you not to litter.

Asshole.

Anyways. So that's my mission pretty soon. I have to get crackalackin, because I have quite a few 5K's coming up and I don't want to finish dead last again. It's kind of terrible to do that in case you aren't familiar. I mean, dead last means I still did more than people sitting on the couch, but when you get passed by old people, that's kind of awful.