If only there were an Easy Pass for life.
Three weeks of eating so clean and I slipped. Maybe it was stress, maybe I was a pound under (oh, the things we tell ourselves), I’m not sure. In any case, I was vulnerable, I was emotional, and I had a one night stand with hydrogenated fats and carbs and butter and chocolate.
Forget regret; isn’t that what your twenties are for, anyway?
Still, a gluttonous tryst has its consequences. Thankfully the punishment isn’t a trek through Dante’s Inferno, but it’s nearly there. Only half an hour later and all guilt and bloated grogginess takes a toll on the soul. Prayers are too late at this point, so I’ve resorted to gulping green tea by the gulp-ful in the hopes of a detoxification, and doing sit-ups on the hardwood floor in search of repentence. Oy vey. Goodbye abs, hello love handles. Let’s keep introductions brief here, it’s not like you’ll ever see each other again.
But thank g-d for Adidas, in an array of candy colors. Deliciously delectable in the healthiest way possible.
How could I not buy (all three) of these sports bras when they’re called the “Empower Bra?”
… by which I mean a dance class with Tre Holloway or Alonzo Williams. Paired with boy’s sweats, classic Adidas, and hoops. (Go hard or go home is the philosophy, here.)
VSX is probably the best thing (second only to their Bombshell bras – which, I might add, are the same size of my average-but-less-than-endowed upper half) the Victoria’s Secret brand has done for themselves. Selling the dream of beautiful bodies and Angel wings packed in sports bras and dry-wick crops? As brilliant as brilliant gets. The goal for me, however, is not to be Candice Swanepoel, but to be the best possible version of what I have. We’ve been given one body to live this lifetime; why treat it any less than it deserves?
And if said body requires particularly cute activewear to get it off its derriere and onto its feet, then so be it. Of course it’s all in the mind, but sometimes we need to borrow a little bit of motivation and outsource our confidence. Fake it ’til you make it, so they say. Let me slip into my workout gear and pretend I’m Tracy Anderson or Julianne Hough!
… just give me a second to whip my hair up into a high pony.
. . .