Ch-cha-cha-changes.
For most of my life I never enjoyed designated exercise. I thought it was a cliche, stereotypical, fitness-obsessed thing that had no value in the lives of individuals who had serious things (like reading, writing, or dicking around) to do. However, over the last year I’ve been gradually incorporating exercise into my daily routine, in part to stay sane (endorphins make you happy!) but mostly because I was sick of making excuses as to why my clothes didn’t fit or about why I was unhappy about my body. About 3-4.5 months ago I upped the exercise quota from about 3 times a week to every day. Unfortunately, at the moment I’ve had to postpone my daily sweat-fest because I may or may not have procrastinated in writing a paper that’s due date may or may not have been extended by a week. So, now I’m jonesing for some cardio and have no one to blame for my self-imposed denial but myself. I never thought the day would come when I would be disappointed by the fact that I couldn’t exercise. Madness.
