So I have this friend

So I have this friend. She is wonderfully fantastic, hilarious, caring, the best friend a girl could ask for.

But.

She is probably one of the healthiest people I’ve ever met in my life. Seriously, the girl goes to the gym every day and does more than ogle fabulously fit men. She actually works out.

Now if you know me you know I’m also into fitness. Fitness whole burger into my mouth. Or burrito, or pizza, or meatball sub. It really doesn’t matter. I love food and if it’s delicious, it’s going into my face. No exceptions.

I’ve been known to wear stretchy pants if I’m going to an exceptionally awesome restaurant. I’m a chubby kid who loves food and I know no shame.

I also love craft beers and creative cocktails. Basically, if it’s unhealthy, I have an unhealthy love for it.

Being the chubby kid that adores food also means that the worst part of my day is putting on my socks.

And that stairs are a nemesis to be avoided at all costs.

Don’t even get me started on pantyhose. Control-top pantyhose? More like Satan’s painful and unholy grip on my stomach chub.

And pants that button were clearly invented by Dr. Moreau on his creepy island. They suck. Pants that button painfully remind me when I’ve reached my maximum food intake.

When that happens my stomach and my heart are generally at war.

My stomach is telling me to tap out, that one more buffalo wing is probably going to kill me. And my heart is asking me if I’m really going to punk out?

My heart’s gangster like that.

Generally I follow my heart’s lead, eat one more buffalo wing, polish off a beer, and then spend the rest of the night begging Jesus to keep me alive because after the last wing I’m fairly certain I’m going to die.

Clearly I cannot be trusted around anything delicious, nor in my present state should I ever be considered a healthy role model.

I need to get healthy. I have to. I have a little girl that looks to me on how to live and how to act; basically I’m her human road map to life.

As you may have surmised if you’ve read this far I hate working out. Hate it. Can’t think of anything I would rather do less. Working out is awful. Half the time I can’t tell if the moisture on my face is sweat or tears.

Back to my healthy friend.

She is now my fitness Jedi. I am her unhealthy padawan in fitness training. I look to her to guide me in all things healthy.

She is going to help me create a relationship with healthy food that won’t give me a heart attack before 30, show me fitness routines that will work for me, and generally just be an encouraging, positive figure in this new healthy endeavor.

It’s going to suck. I’m already angry and hating every aspect of this plan.

But it’s needs to be done. It just does. I need to get healthy not just for me, but for my daughter, my future husband, and all the people in my life who count on me.

Pray for me readers. I will need it.