Before I get to that, however, it is my duty to share with you the photo I took last night as I was walking out of class.
Alright, on to the incriminating evidence. In case you haven't been around here in the past 2 weeks, I went out and bought myself a treadmill not too long ago, and it sits happy as a clam in our living room.
Now, I appreciate the purists out there who can run on a treadmill for any amount of time without some sort of distraction, be it a friend, a book, music, or the television. Those "in the zone" people. Good for you. I'm not that way. Thus, my treadmill sits about 2 feet from our tv, so that I can watch my shows while I make myself miserable. That's not the incriminating part. No, no, no. It's what I watch that's the issue.
Oh, but I don't limit myself JUST to my girl Paula. Oh no, that would not suit.
Actually, the more fattening and gluttonous, the happier and more engrossed I become. There's something about watching these shows that makes me feel the urge to work out, because I feel like I'm going to throw a clot from all the cholesterol they're cooking with. So it only seemed natural to give in to those urges, and actually run.
I totally torture myself with amazing food when I'm on the treadmill. I love butter and bacon, y'all. There's no way around that. Add in some cream cheese, and we are good to go. Keep the unhealthiest stuff coming, cooking show celebrities... I'll be ready for my half marathon in no time with you 3 on my side.