Sometime during my adulthood I guess I grew out of the asthma thing as it relates to exercise. Leaving me no excuse.
My sacred devotion to walking just isn't doing it for me like it used to. Kick boxing, while being one of the most enjoyable forms of aerobic exercise I have ever experienced, is no longer an option. Instructor Dave seems to have been fired, the gym management is disorganized and the owner is so arrogant it makes you wanna roundhouse kick him in the groin. Best that I don't attend those classes any more . . .
So I turned to running. When I first started, I felt silly. And jiggly. I commented to my daughter that running made me feel like I needed a sports bra. For my buttcheeks. Now, every time she sees me putting on my running shoes, she breaks into a fit of laughter with that visual in her head. Thanks for the support, sweetie!
Oh--and there's also that damn hula hoop . . .
I ended up buying this one--specifically meant for adults:
(Hottie not included . . . ) See all those metallic looking protrusions on the inside of the hoop? WTF are they for????? I am convinced my hoop was based on the original design sketches from this classic 18th century hoop:
Trust me, no one would dare use my modern day contrivance without sufficient protection from the evil nubbins. Here's my favored method of defense against the "hula hoop" that could surely pass for a barbaric rite of passage device:
(Hottie still not included . . . )
Between you and me? Hoopin' ain't all it's cracked up to be. Once I've got the hoop going, it's relatively easy to stay in the groove with minimal effort. I always feel it in my abs the next day, but I think the sensation I feel is the bruising from the torture spikes--not the fantastic workout.
I'm pretty sure that hooping would be a fabulous aerobic endeavor for mere mortals. But for me--former 3rd grade hula hooping champion--a cakewalk.
I guess my buttcheeks and I will stick with the running . . .