TWENTYTEN

Today was my first workout of the new year. This morning, I packed my gym bag and my lunch box and headed out to work. After work, I contemplated being "too hungry" to get to the gym but I drove myself down the highway and got off at the exit anyways. I vowed that I wouldn't work out "too hard" because after all, I was feeling hungry and tired after a long day.

I get to the gym locker room to change and lo and behold! I didn't pack a *shirt* to work out in. I had remembered socks, sneakers, bras and spandie (spandex? lycra? cotton?) workout pants. A few weeks ago, I would have determined that the exercise g-ds were "against" me and I should probably head home to lay on the couch and watch Law & Order. The new, slightly improved and higher functioning TWENTYTEN me decided to use the undershirt I wore today as my workout top and kept it moving.

And move it I did. I went on that terrible treadmill and busted out 30 minutes of run/walk/incline/decline goodness.

Even though I felt self-concious about how I looked in spandies and a tank top. Plus, I'm not really even hungry right now.