What Was I Thinking?

Exercise and I are not on good terms. We have a mutual understanding....we ignore each other and we are both happy.

This relationship was working just fine and dandy for the two of us....until....

A deal was cut. A slimy, sneaky, make-me-crazy deal.

And I blame it all on this:

Have you ever heard of this madness? It is an insane, pathetically hard workout program that is supposed to rip you into beach body perfection in 90 days. It is a psychotic mix of cardio, weight training, and yoga. Insanity, I tell ya, pure insanity.

Kirk decided to jump on the P90X train when some friends at work did. (I gave him my speech about jumping off bridges just because his friends do, but he didn't listen). He asked me nicely to do the program with him, and I chuckled rather loudly in his face, then gently reminded him of the fact that exercise and I are not on speaking terms.

Then it happened. He pulled the card that makes me turn to mush. He busted out a vacation to the sunny beaches of Mexico.

He said that if I finish this program with him, then my ticket to Mexico will be ready and waiting. And the icing on the cake is that apparently I'll also look good in a bathing suit if I do the program. Yah....we'll see about that last part, but just the thought of Mexico was enough to make my eyes swim.

So we shook on it, and for the past 4 nights I have subjected my body to the most horrendous display of muscle torture known to man. And I hurt. Everywhere.

I can't even sit down without grimacing.

But I just keep thinking...Mexico, Mexico, Mexico.

Kirk seems to think that once I go through the whole 90 days that I will be addicted to exercise and want to keep going.

I think I chuckled louder at that comment than the first one.