For a while now, Jeremy and I have been talking about getting serious about getting in shape. For me, this means drinking my kick-ass kale shakes and running on the treadmill at 4:30 am. I’m not joking people. I have two kids to get ready in the morning, plus a head of unruly hair to tame. Add an hour commute in the morning where I spend most of my energy giving dirty looks to other commuters who talk on their cell phones while driving. By necessity, I am an early riser.
For my husband, getting in shape means pumping some iron, shooting hoops and hiking up large mountains foraging and hunting for food. More importantly, it means him claiming he can run a mile at a full sprint on the treadmill and not having me pass out from laughter just thinking about it.
I mentioned to Jeremy a few weeks ago that I thought I should start up my fitness routine once again so I could prepare myself. He was all, what are you preparing yourself for? I told him that I wanted to get my hawt figure back so that if anything ever happened to him I could snag someone to help take care of me and the kids, our two dogs and two cats. The fish can fend for himself.
Jeremy then told me that I shouldn’t bother because he was going to get in shape first, making him hella healthy thus rendering my workout routine totally useless. In fact, he would be so shaped up and waxed up that he’d be fighting off the females ten at a time. We both had a good laugh. After that we got hungry so we ordered a pizza.