I went to the gym this morning.

I haven't been much lately, and frankly, I didn't really want to go today. After getting Hatchling all checked in (which is a serious hassle involving scanning one card, signing in, filling out another card, and weaving your way through 8000 screaming toddlers so you can leave your child in the right place, where he will no doubt beat up on children smaller than himself in your absence), I trotted upstairs and grabbed myself a treadmill. I'm not sure why I was feeling overly ambitious (these words will make you laugh soon), but I was.

I cranked up the treadmill and walked at 4 mph pace for 3 minutes. Feeling sufficiently warmed up, I cranked it up to 5.5 and ran for TWO WHOLE MINUTES. At about a minute and thirty seconds, I thought I was going to die. By the time my self-imposed two minutes were up, I was pretty sure I was going to slide backwards off of the treadmill and give in to the giant pain in my chest which was obviously an impending and ginormously massive heart attack. I even envisioned, in my oxygen deprived state, how ungainly I would look until the paramedics hauled me off.

Chagrined, I headed to a stationary bike and managed to pedal away for a measly 10 minutes. What the crap? I gave up at this point and went to sit in the sauna, where women of my obviously delicate constitution belong. A short month ago, I was able to make it through a spinning class with little problem (L says I don't work out hard in this class, but I do. He knows nothing). I'm not sure why I am suddenly so weak. In my defense, I've been dragging for a few days and think I'm fighting something off, but I wouldn't think it would make me quite this pathetic.

I need some new running (ha!) shoes, so I'm going to go to this store where they tape you running on the treadmill to see what kind of shoe you need on Friday. I'm sure I will somehow manage to embarrass myself, and being the giving individual I am, I'll be sure to tell you all about it. I'm such a giver.