I've had a dilemma in my life. I can either be physically fit... or I can be writer. I haven't figured out a way to do both.
But I vow here and now that those days are over. I've been doing Zumba (and by "doing" I mean "stumbling over my two left feet and spontaneously clapping) and then I've also been doing Pilates (and by "doing" I mean "watching the people around me work their cores, and marveling at their strength").
Anyway, after a few weeks of this, something strange happened. I went to bed one night, and when I woke up the next morning, I wasn't alone. There was something small and unfamiliar near my stomach region.
I ran to the bathroom mirror to find this:
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| Objects in mirror are less defined than they appear. Also, objects in picture are not my abs. They are a representation. To picture my abs, take this picture, add seven layers of fat and then subtract the hip dents. |
That's right. The stranger in my bed was a stomach muscle. (Okay, there's a sentence I never thought I'd type).
I was so excited, I had to write about it.
So here is my ode to my stomach muscle.
ODE TO MY STOMACH MUSCLE (I'm not really creative with titles)
Oh stomach muscle.
Little stomach muscle.
You are so little
You are more like a chicken nugget taped to my belly
Are you so lonely
stuck on my tummy with no other
stomach muscles to keep you company?
Are you so cold
without that warm layer of fat
that for so many years cushioned you
from the harsh elements of the world?
I will keep you warm
I will cover you in t-shirts and cardigans and Spanx
I will keep you company
I will cradle you
and love you
I won't jar you or jerk you around
and we will sit on the couch
and watch movies
and read books
and we will never have to go out
and... wait.
Stomach muscle? Where did you go?
Crap! Stomach muscle?
The only problem is that my stomach muscle is not a loyal friend. If he is neglected, or unappreciated, he will disappear on me, without a word.
What about you? Anyone out there sit in a chair for a living? What do you do?
