Arms. Hate. Me.

I run like a Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot.

If you call the red one right now, I will cut you.

Thanks a lot today. You're a real pal.

Stupid push ups, core busting torture devices and the god forsaken kettle bell! 

"Mom, I can't put my arms down!"

No, seriously. 

The only difference between Randy and I is that he has freezing cold snow while here it is ridonkulously hot with no chance of rain- maybe ever.

Oh, and Randy can put his arms down sans coat. Mine appear to be locked in 90 degree angles.

Joy.

One good thing did happen during this morning's torture: 

(and this is MAJOR!)

I used a band (think stretchy jump rope with looped handles) without getting thwacked in the face.

See? Major.

I am pleased. Particularly since Saturday I Supermaned while running with my dogs

(Is that a word? Supermaned? Superman'd?)

and now my hip looks like buckshot and flip flops are uncomfortable. 

Stupid bruises.

Doesn't this sound like fun?!

Sexy time.