Water and Wedgies

You’re probably wondering what water and wedgies have in common. Well…typically nothing I suppose. Except today…we’re exercising!!! Yes, I am feigning excitement about sweating and muscles burning but that’s what I’ve gotta do to get me through this workout.

First things first, we need water. Not just because we’re going to get thirsty but because it’s a good excuse to stop and take a much-needed break. It may sound like procrastination, but it is highly important to be properly hydrated when undertaking grueling activity.

I have a full water bottle, sneakers, workout gear and my glasses are off (they steam up when I sweat so you know I mean business). I’ve followed my sister’s lead and I’ve written down my routine on a white board so that I can tick things off as I complete them. This makes me feel more accomplished and then I can snap a picture of it when I’m finished to prove that I’ve actually done what I set out to do.

I pull out my bright yellow gym mat and proceed to sit down and start stretching out my muscles. They yell at me, wondering what the hell is going on, we don’t do this! Everything feels tight and I’m already worried about how my body is going to seize up tomorrow. I stretch longer than I really need to, prolonging the inevitable.

I throw on some upbeat music and try to pump myself up.

I start with jumping jacks, they seem harmless enough, a good way to warm up. It doesn’t take long before I realize that I’ve made a terrible mistake. Not only are my knees screaming at me, but I am wearing the wrong underwear for this. They’re starting to slide down into my crack with every movement of my tubby body. I don’t want to stop my rhythm, so I continue, uncomfortably.

I finish my jumping jacks and hike up my underwear. I pause and wonder if I should just go throw on my grannie panties, but I know that will interrupt my momentum, so I decide to persevere. (Normally this would have been a good enough excuse to stop exercising and go watch TV but I am fierce today!)

I move onto mountain climbers. I’m starting to get warm, sweaty and irritable. My panties try to escape again and I stop mid-climber to hike them up. Within a few seconds they’re right back down and I am fuming. I hike them up into a full atomic wedgie and finish up the exercise.

Through the rest of my routine I struggle and wrangle my wayward underwear. I do crunches and push-ups and attempt a couple burpees. I’m sweating good now and my underwear is starting to feel like a spit-wad between my butt cheeks. I’m constantly hiking them up and that in itself is a workout.

45 minutes pass and I’m wheezing, my fat body heaving to draw in breath. I have a real fear of having a heart attack so I decide that this is enough. I stretch it out and groan at the thought of impending leg cramps. I guzzle some water and pull my underwear out of my crack one final time. I’m burning this pair.

Satisfied with this first session, I peel the warm moist clothes off my rolls, momentarily getting stuck in my sports bra, twisting around furiously to heave it over my sweaty boobs. The water in the shower is cool and I step under it, letting it wash the day away. This was good. I feel good.

I don’t look at my body in the mirror as I step out of the shower but that’ll come. Baby steps…

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