My 65-year-old grandmother has just asked me to workout with her. Seriously.
When I say grandmother, I’m referring to this new kind of grannies who owns an iPhone, quite ‘addicted’ to Facebook and Candy Crush, goes ballroom dancing every Wednesday, tours around the country and abroad with her batch mates from high school. Oh, mine even rode the Geyser Gulch in Disneyland with us. Yes, pretty much the groovy one. (Check out Robert De Niro on The Intern. I love him!)
I didn’t actually write this post to brag about my grandmom (subtly, maybe). Off to my point, I have always been petite as I was growing up, hardly normal. I was always the underweight kid. People would always tell me to eat up and drink various multivitamins, them not knowing how big my appetite is compared to most kids. I just wouldn’t gain weight, no matter how many boxes of chocolate I devoured.
I have never complained about my fats since I hardly have any. Never tried working out or going to the gym. Why should I?
But that was then.
After hitting on beers and vodka consistently for almost a year (not anymore) and taking in too much carbs, I finally now have the much detested belly fats. I can finally be a part of the raging group of women who rants about how much fat they’ve gained over the holidays.. No, I don’t want to be one. Come on, if you really hate it that much why not do sit-ups and actually do something about it? Let me be clear, I have nothing against people who are fat or thin or those in between. Anyone who’s comfortable in his own skin can be sexy, regardless of their weight. I’m just not into people who do nothing but rant and talk.
“Those who do not find time for exercise will have to find time for illness.” – Earl of Derby
So yesterday, when my grandmother asked me to go hit the gym with her, I took it as a sign. A sign that I must really work on my fitness, not only because I have gained weight, but because if a 65-year-old woman can take care of her body through her actions, what does inactivity of a 20-year-old woman means?
A bit of sweat every now and then may not get me a Mila Kunis kind of body, but it can shut the guilt out of my idleness. A little cardio probably didn’t hurt anyone. At the end of the day, size may be a number, but is it what really counts?