Exercise -- it's not for wimps.

Since my husband has been on the "fat bastard" program the Navy runs, I've felt a little guilty. And I've needed an excuse to use my new (nook) toy. So, I've started working out with him. Well, more like parallel to him.

And then came Wednesday.

To be fair, he had warned me about the horror of his Wednesday workout. I thought he was lying. Or maybe exaggerating, just a little (or a lot). He wasn't.

After doing far too many lunges and squats, my legs still haven't recovered. And I've gone out and bought the book that's the female version of his program. Because I don't want to have thighs as big around as my waist. And if I had to endure one more Wednesday workout on his program -- I'd either be dead because I'd cut off my own legs to alleviate the pain or my kids would starve to death because I wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

I'll be writing again soon. Hopefully.

That is, if I'm not dead from trying to get healthier.