It's no secret.  I do NOT like to exercise.  I don't mind going to the gym or the track or the exercise class.  I don't mind making a fool of myself with my major uncoordination.  I don't mind breathing hard and getting my heart rate up.  I love the way it makes me feel (after it is over).  I love the way it makes me look.  I love the health benefits.  What I don't like?  I don't like to sweat.

"Women perspire," they tell me.  They don't sweat, they "glisten."  And it's true.  Most women do.  I look around and see women with a slight sheen on their face, not a hair out of place, a nice blush creeping to their cheeks.  I see women leaving the gym, looking no worse for wear than when they went in.  I have friends who take showers after they work out, but stick to their every other day hair washing routine.

Me?  I was fortunate to be blessed with sweat genes.  My father is a sweater (as in person who sweats, not the winter weather staple) and I am too.  No sooner do I start my workout and I am soaked, hair included.  Not only that, but I turn bright red.  And lest you think I exaggerate, you may ask any of the eight people I passed on my way back to my classroom after working out this afternoon.  Every single one of them asked if I was ok, and two of them tried to get me to sit down and drink some water. (No, that's not embarrassing).

You see, I started with a new trainer today--my daughter, Maddy (aka the energizer bunny.)  In my attempt to encourage her to keep running now that track season has ended, I got myself a workout nazi partner.  After walk/running (running the straight parts; walking the curves) a mile and doing two stadiums, I thought I was going to die.   I survived, though, and I will suffer again tomorrow.

Because I am going to do this.   And if the blood pressure, the cholesterol, the bad knees, bad feet, and snug clothes aren't reasons enough, my darling daughter said this to me yesterday after seeing me crop myself out of a picture: "Well, Mama, at least your big legs aren't in the picture."  Out of the mouths of babes.
Plus, as Daryl so eloquently put it,  I'm "financially invested."  If I'm going to pay to do this, I'm going to do it right.  I'm tired of being the fat mom, the fat first grade teacher, the fat one at the family get togethers.  I'm tired of feeling bad about myself, and while I know that my friends and family love me for who I am on the inside, I'm ready to love myself inside and out...sweat and all.