Chubby Fitness

chubby fitnessThursday, August 28, 2014

Today I am grateful for chubby fitness.  So I get up early this morning and pad around the house puttering at a few little things, tea, newspaper, yogurt. . .nothing to break a sweat.  Gimme a break.  It’s morning!


Then I turn on the TV and learn that some sadist has now invented a workout shirt, yes a SHIRT that will “inform” me if I’m breathing enough, eating too much, burning off too few calories, not working hard enough, blah, blah, blah.  I thought all of these years my bra, jeans, mirror and conscience took care of that.  I guess I was wrong.  Who knew?  Just what we chubby fitness folks need is something else to shame us!  At great cost.


Go ahead and buy one if you want to, but I won’t.  I don’t like my clothes dissing me.  I can self-flagellate very well by myself, thank you.  My clothes just need to shut up!  I didn’t buy Wii fitness either.  It seemed like a good idea at first and then someone told me that when you step on the pad it criticizes you if you’ve gained an ounce.  I didn’t want to give the thing laryngitis screaming at me.  Hey, I did it a favor. . .and me.


No, I won’t buy something that thinks its job is to remind me to breathe!  I learned to breathe a long, long time ago.  Every day when I get up I’m still breathing.  I might sound like a person without a goal, but breathing every day is good enough for me!  Sometimes if I feel stressed or sad, I’ll even deep breathe seven times in, hold to a seven count, breathe out counting seven.  So I can breathe and count to seven.  Countries were formed and lost on less!


Keep your lousy, yammering shirt.  Go invent a cure for cancer, unwanted facial hair and idiot drivers!  Stop wasting my time!   I am grateful that I am a member of the chubby fitness group and won’t feel one bit compelled to buy one.  I might have extra cellulite, but I also have a brain!  Anyway, will this stupid shirt come in a XXXXXXXXLLLLL!?  No?  Yeah, that’s what I thought!  Cowards!  Breathe. . .breathe. . .breathe. . .

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