Just Stink About It

I told myself Friday that I couldn’t shower until I exercised (thinking that would force me to exercise)—then I concluded Saturday, wincing at the stench from my armpits, if I held to this rule in a few weeks time I would be heavy and stinky-UGLY stinky. A stink so embarrassing, when I go out in public I’ll pretend like I don’t know me.  So instead of sabotaging my Jillian Michaels workout because I smelled, I showered, worked out, then showered again—it’s ok, no one has ever complained that I smell too good.  “Hey, Lady that fresh smell is really distracting, have some respect.”  Although the double-duty wash did feel pretty strange.  Showering twice as a kid growing up with sixteen other siblings in limited bathroom space—blasphemy.  As the youngest, I couldn’t beat my siblings at ANYTHING and was resigned to the fact, but knew, deep down, with pride, that at the end of the day no one else would have hair that could house a birds nest, tan lines that were actually dirt lines, and a smell like a walking fart. I owned my dirtiness as a kid; I tweaked it and honed it as if it were my craft.  So I’m making exercise a priority even above the childhood need to be good at something, even if that something is stinkiness.  Today is the third day of completing Jillian’s “30 Day Shred” DVD—all twenty minutes, and I smell...alright.