Thursday, 28 February 2013

If you are what you eat then I must be an oatmeal raisin cookie.


I do not think of food as fuel for my body. I think of food as my greatest love in life, my passion. I go to bed dreaming of elaborate brunches and calorie-laden sweets. Don’t ask me about my macros and don’t you dare drive past a KFC without getting a bucket of chicken.

Unfortunately for me It’s become incredibly taboo these days to not work out. So I decided in order to fit in and ensure that my jeans still fit me I would start doing some dance classes.

My first class is a hip-hop cardio class, lets just be clear there is no disclaimer before this class. Nobody informed me that there were any prerequisites eg; having the ability to jump up and down multiple times without passing out. So here I am in my trackies thinking I am about to get all crunk up in this bitch and hoping by the end of it that'll I'll be able to "twerk" with the best of them. The room is over heating immediately and within 5 minutes everyone is red faced and panting. Layers are coming off faster than a Nelly video clip and I keep telling myself I’ll have an ass like Candice Swanepol’s after this. 

It’s been three days and I still can’t walk or bend properly. Don’t get me wrong I am not extremely unfit or anything, my body just does not enjoy lunges, squats and any form of exercise that does not involve simply lying on a mat and focusing on inhaling and exhaling.

I however do enjoy aerobics; I find it all quite amusing especially when you have a gay instructor (those are the best kind). They play inspiring songs like Shine Bright like a Diamond – Rihanna and yell at you for not shaking your hips hard enough. I am constantly in awe at how they can walk like Beyonce and probably have more femininity in one kick than I do in my whole vagina.


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