ow.

Pilates is of the devil.  And not in that "oh this is so fun it could cause me to neglect my religious studies" way, either.  The longer I sit here, the more likely that my legs will just freeze into this position and I'll be unable to move and I'll be stuck here, muttering "oil can" until someone finds me.

I'll just come out and say it:  I hate exercise.  If it didn't give me an hour and a half away from Lily's chattering, I'd be unlikely to drag my butt to the gym.  I have always hated it.  In high school, I theorized that hell was just a room full of gymnastic equipment and a hairy, squat gym teacher with a whistle.  When we did gymnastics in gym class, I usually just sat on the mat and cried.  I could not do a somersault until I was in the 9th grade.  We had to put together a "tumbling program" and present it to the rest of the class.  I can't recall how long it had to be.  probably a minute.  I remember it as 30 minutes.  Because I had only JUST mastered the damned forward roll, that was all I could do, so I just did roll after roll until the time was up.  I still hate Miss Wintjen.  It's her fault that I'm fat and out of shape.  So I'll just have some ice cream and sulk about it.

Problem is, I just uploaded all these pictures from my mother in law's lovely 65th birthday party and couldn't help but notice THIS:


Okay, you say, why the obsession with your mom's neck?  You might well ask this, except for this little detail--MY MOM WAS NOT THERE!!!  So, you know.  Off to the gym with me.  To lift weights with my chin(s).