It's not fun being fat in Chicago in March

Why? Because when you recommit yourself to exercise, it is virtually impossible to find anything in the stores that will accommodate the wild and erratic temperature swings that accompany March in Chicago. And, well, I threw away all my fat clothes because I just knew I would NEVER go back to fat clothes. Hahaha...joke's on me.

So, I'm digging through old clothes trying to find things that will allow me to run outside without the fear of someone worried that a Beluga got lost from the Shedd or calling animal control reporting a rare, two legged, albino cow chugging along Southport. And, then when it turns the odd warm thing, there is the fish belly whiteness to deal with. I must remember to try to use that gradual and faint faux tan stuff that is mixed in with lotion. I learn to live with the boiled potato smell to keep from scaring or scarring :) the masses.

Today, though, I did get back on the tennis court. I am happy to report that it really is like riding a bike. Only without the awkward weaving, deer in headlights look, and the momentary lapse of remembering which hand brakes which wheel and the sense of doom that you might, very well, fling yourself headfirst over the handlebars. Or perhaps, that only happens to me. Hm.

Was I on my A game? Nope. Hell no. Then again, even my best game would not be described as an "A game." But, it was good to be back. And I'm very happy about that. It was fabulous to see my coach, that I refer to as Tennis Hottie, aka TH. Not just because he was hot, but because he is a friend and a good guy. Okay, okay, it is partially because he is hot. *shrugs* I had some great points, some almost legit winners, and I've scheduled for next week. Now, not to cancel. I must get out of the anti-exercise funk I've been in!