Fanny is Anemic

Exercise. It is not a four letter word. Count the letters carefully...1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Hmmmm....I can hear Craig now. No, it isn't a four letter word, just multiply 4 x 2????? and that would make it two four letter words.

The iron in my blood has certainly turned to lead in my butt. No, it would not make my Mother proud that I used the word butt, but sometimes you just gotta! Nothing else will fit. I have lost a lot of weight, to date, 185 pounds. However, "Fanny" wants to be the last to depart. She is hanging on for dear life. She thinks we are best friends. I don't have the heart to tell her it is time for us to put our relationship "behind us".

I love exercising. It really makes me feel better physically and emotionally. I have done really well with my exercise program, until...here it comes, confession time, (a drum roll would work well here) a couple of months ago. Now, I walk in from work. My leaded, still over sized "Fanny" drags me to the nearest chair, forces me to flop down and will not allow me to move from the chair. It is like a giant oversize magnet has control of "Fanny". It will only release me from the giant over sized chair if, and only if, I make a commitment to get up out of the chair, and wag the two of us bed. In order to get to the bedroom, I have to walk right by all the wonderful exercise equipment that God has blessed me with and expects me to use. I look at it and "Fanny" reminds me that I made her a promise to go to bed. She also speaks clearly that she is way too heavy and tired to climb up on any of that stupid looking equipment. The argument that goes on between my brain and "Fanny" at that moment is frightening. Obviously, "Fanny" is stronger than my brain, because she wins the argument every time. "Fanny" tells my brain if you force me to walk over there, I promise you, I will sit down. My brain believes her every time.

My exercise equipment is in my sewing room. It is also the address of my iron and ironing board. My wonderful mother in all her wisdom, instilled in her children the importance of looking nice when going out in public. Clean clothes, neatly pressed, etc....I try to honor my mother's wishes in this area of my life. Lately, I have been wearing more clothes that don't need pressing. You know, the guilt trip of having to face the lonely exercise equipment and that emotional battle that goes on between my brain and "Fanny". I don't want "Fanny" to win that battle at 6:00 in the morning and the two of us have to go back to bed. However, as fate would have it, it happened! This morning, I had to re-introduce myself to the iron and ironing board. I was totally out of clothes that I could wear without pressing. I begin to prepare my brain for the fact that we were going to have to walk by the exercise equipment. That we needed to stop, but there just was not time this morning. So there was no need to get into this big argument with "Fanny".

As I stood at the ironing board, preparing to look my best, I suddenly had the divine revelation that ironing my dress was exercise...you know "pumping iron". The emotional freedom that I felt at that moment, I will never be able to forget, totally indescribable. Wouldn't you know it, of all the times for my brain to win an argument with "Fanny" it would have to be at that very moment. "Yep, keep thinking like that and we will have to change "Fanny's" name to Big Bertha."