Do the gym boogie!

There's a new Darren in town. He goes to the gym every night.

On this particular night, his girl came along. She figures that if she and her [soon-to-be] husband are ever going to be that couple, they better start hitting the gym together.

(That couple: the hot one who works out every day. His figure is mean and lean and her tooshie is firm and adorable.)

So the new Darren and his girl may or may not be me and my Darren....the only absolute I can admit is that we definitely don't look like that couple. Yet.

I made it a whopping 5 minutes on the treadmill. Go me! Perhaps taking a running hiatus for the last 3 months wasn't such a great idea.

I did take the first few hundred steps toward a firm tooshie though. That. stair. machine. is. hard. And I'm pretty sure I had it on the Wuss Setting.

I debated which stairs to get on. One was right in front of Darren's treadmill (sweaty behind shots, anyone?) and the other was a little further away, where he could have a pretty clear view of my burning red and wheezy face. I chose the one where he could watch me labor to breath, but I'm still not sure that was a better choice.

I felt like this little guy:

I'm pretty certain I looked like him too.

The good news? ZUMBA IS IN MY NEAR FUTURE!

You might want to pull up a front row seat for that fiasco. It won't take long to prove that I haven't an ounce of innate rhythm, however, I bet if we're all honest with ourselves we will realize that it isn't the good dancers we love to watch. It's the train wrecks that bring us the most pleasure.

Just see for yourself:

(And that, my friends, is why we shouldn't gamble.)

(Also, he's a better dancer than I. Zumba should be....something.)