My first fitness class. . .

Last night I attended my first fitness class... and I'll say this:
It was interesting, and effective. I'm very sore today.

It started off with some silly warm up routine you might find on a Richard Simmons video...

I felt a little silly waving my arms in the air and doing the grapevine steps... I was trying with all my might not to laugh at myself when it completely changed gears and kicked my butt. Full squat position while doing weights... a plié position while doing curls and squats simultaneously.  Honestly my brain had trouble keeping up because we changed things up so much it was like a dance routine...

After it was all said and done I think I enjoyed it, and it passed the test when I woke up sore this morning. Because honestly, if you're not getting sore, you're not working hard... right? PLUS it's on a Monday night... the busiest night at the gym... so I'd rather do that class than fight people for a treadmill or elliptical machine.

Now, if only I could find a friend to go with me....

The Revelation . . .

Here's a funny {and embarrassing} little story of how I realized I'd truly lost my fit/healthy self:

My boyfriend's uncle was in town and decided he wanted to take us out to a nice restaurant for dinner. Awesome. I loved this restaurant. The only problem? I wasn't informed of this outing until after I'd arrived at his house... in sweatpants.

After realizing we were leaving in about 20 minutes I made a mad dash to the local $25 and under clothing store. This quickly prompted a mini meltdown in the dressing room over NOTHING fitting me properly. I accepted my defeat and walked out empty-handed knowing I would have to go to the restaurant in sweats, and I really didn't want to do that.

Only trying to be helpful, my boyfriend then offers his jeans for me to wear. Under normal circumstances this would have been a cool idea. Optimistically, I thought, 'I could be the slender girlfriend wearing her boyfriend's baggy jeans and a cute fitted tee...'

But reality came and slapped me out of my daydream and right back into the real world. The idea of trying on my boyfriends jeans immediately turned into an internal panic attack, 'what if they don't even fit me? After all, I am the overweight girlfriend desperately attempting to conceal the knowledge that she weighs the SAME as her boyfriend and would absolutely DIE to have him realize his jeans don't fit her.'

We got back to his apartment and he draped some jeans out on the couch. I looked at them with an awkward look on my face that apparently read in his mind that they were ugly -- which in a way, I was trying to do. I thought, 'if I make it seem like I don't like the style, I won't have to try them on'. He then said the dreaded words, "those are the biggest ones I own."

Oh, really? The BIGGEST ones? Awesome. 

I know sometimes guys don't even realize the things they say have the sharpest thorns, but this one hit me dead in the stomach. Obviously the concealment of my size and weight has failed miserably. I have not fooled my boyfriend.... {Did I really think I WAS fooling him to begin with?}

I left my pride bleeding on the floor as we walked out the door towards the restaurant.

I wore sweatpants... and ordered a salad.