Remember the 80s or 90s commercial for Nair?
Anyway, I thought of it this morning when I went down to the resort's fitness center to get a mile in on the treadmill.
See, I didn't get kicked off my Shrinkvivor Team (YAY!!!) and the physical challenge this week is how fast you can walk/run a mile.
Let me back up. (beep...beep...beep)
It's Sunday morning here in Myrtle Beach.
After a glorious seven-hour sleep in fluffy king-sized bed, I fed Thomas a bottle, fixed myself breakfast, and watched half of an episode of Grey's Anatomy from the second season. What? They're in the 22nd season now? Yeah, I'm a little bit behind. No spoilers, please.
Thomas went down for nap 1-of-3 at 9:00, when I changed clothes and headed down to complete my mile.
Alas, the treadmills were full.
Of old(er) ladies.
Whose legs look better than mine have ever or WILL ever look.
And whose short shorts would give Lindsey Lohan pause.
So I waited, reading my Entertainment Weekly. The one with Claire and Phil on the cover. I heart Modern Family!!!
Anyway, the one treadmill that was occupied by a man (who thankfully was not donning short shorts) was free after about seven or eight minutes, and It. Was. Go. Time.
Let me just say that exercise and I are not friends.
We have toyed with a relationship in the past, especially in, say, 1994, when I was in love with all things Step Reebok and Gin Miller. But we keep having irreconcilable differences and parting ways.
But this morning, we were loving each other again, and I have the sore thighs to prove it.
Which, good news, will not now or will they ever be covered in short shorts.
(BTW, my one-mile time was 12:52. Not bad for me!)