Can someone tell me what NIA is? Is it a bunch of women connecting their wombs with phases of the moon? Does the instructor say, “Okay ladies! Make like a train and choo-choo!” and everyone assembles into an estrogen-heavy conga line and yells, “Chugga-chugga-chugga! Woo-woo!”
I need a new workout routine, something more strenuous than lifting my 30-lb son onto my lap or off of my lap and in front of his other mother, the television. Sure I burn calories from the grueling trek I make from this desk to the refrigerator upstairs, but it’s quickly negated with the tub of cookies and cream.
Hey, maybe I’ll actually do something on a regular basis, as regular as the gym membership fee that’s automatically deducted from my account even though I haven’t been there in a working-out capacity in months. And by months, I mean, Nathan’s birthday, specifically, the day he was born.