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The Diet Starts Tomorrow

September 6, 2011

Ahhh fall.  The crisp cool air, the beautiful colors of the foliage, the smells of warm apple pie… and the screams of millions of women as they are attempting to fit back into their jeans.

As I woke up on this cool morning (in Chicago we go from 90 degrees one day to 55 the next), I realized there were no power tools that Craftsman makes that was going to help me get that zipper up on my last season jeans.  Believe me I tried.  Rolling around on the ground, holding my breath until I about passed out and risking crushing my internal organs, just so I could say “they fit!”  But alas, the jeans have defeated me!

I’m not sure who I’m more angry at — Mother Nature, for making me put away my elastic summer skirts, or the man who invented buttons and zippers.

Not to be defeated, I decide I’m going to sweat off the “summer 5” (ok, maybe 10, but who’s counting).  So I make a date with the ball machine on Court 5.  I now need to make an appointment with a cardiologist ASAP.

I step onto the court after a month off and decide to ramp up the speed on the machine because (a) I need to lose 5 lbs fast so I can zip my jeans and (b) there is a 4-some on the court next to me watching me hit (I should mention one duo has made note they are “trying to knock us off court 1” this indoor season, so I really needed to intimidate).

I took a deep breath and turned the machine on.  This is when I realized I have made a mistake of gargantuan proportion.  The balls are zooming past me and they are going from one corner to the next alternating.  So I channeled my inner FloJo and started running like it was Black Friday at Best Buy.

I have no idea how many balls I hit, how many I missed, or if I had died and this was hell.  Because everything in my body hurt — heart, lungs, eyes, brain from figuring out how I got myself into this.

I look at the clock.  10 minutes has passed.  I have this court booked for 1 hour.

The court next to me looks over and says, “You know you can slow the speed.”

My jeans have already beat me today, no way this stinkin’ ball machine is going to beat me too.   So I say, “Oh no, speed’s great.  I think I’m going to pick it up the next round.”

And so I continued for the remaining 50 minutes running, lunging, crying.  The plus side — I had to have lost 5 lbs right?

I crawl up the stairs and do the army crawl to my bathroom scale to celebrate the victory of fitting into my jeans.  Adios Summer 5.  I step on the scale — No change.

I hate jeans.

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