I haven’t worked out in a long time. Tiff is great at it, and can always report back on her WOD from Crossfit every morning and how many pull-ups she can do. I tend to reply with “oh neat, that sounds hard” and continue to count drinking green juice as exercise.

Since moving to Cambodia, a combination of anxiety, serious tummy issues and laziness has kept me roughly the same size without being healthy in any way whatsoever. I used to be really into working out, and probably spent too much time at the gym. I loved it, and it made me feel great. When I got here, I was too sick or too hot to do it, so I just let it taper off. I have started doing yoga and running walking pretty regularly, but I’m not sure it counts if I don’t sweat.

Yesterday, I decided that the skinny-lazy thing isn’t going to work for me anymore. I had my first training session with a friend and she basically destroyed me. I asked her to, but holy mackerel. We did some high-intensity interval training for about 30min, with 2 minute breaks, and I haven’t been that red in the face since I fell like a tree in the middle of a crowded market three years ago. Walking down the stairs post-workout was nearly impossible for me and I actually asked if there was an elevator, in the gym. Low point.

I will be doing this three times a week, and complaining about it at least four times that much. If you don’t hear from me, it’s because I am on the floor trying to catch my breath and mustering the strength to bathe.

Being healthy is so glamorous.