The Fitness Contract

         I, Tonya attest that this is my Last Will and Testament. What? No, no, this isn't right. I'm not drafting a bequeathment here, at least not yet. My aim is to be drop dead gorgeous, NOT drop dead. I intend to draw up an official document, a contract that I cannot ignore. It must be iron clad. I need to motivate myself into exercising and becoming fit. There must not be any wiggle room. I must hold myself accountable, I may not skip out, or run away from this hard work. Well, okay, I may skip and run, but only as forms of muscle building. Someday, I just may become bikini clad.

         So, I, Tonya vow to move and sweat everyday. At this moment, my shape is the shape of water. No really it is. Like water which flows and adapts to the contours of its confinement, my body is formed by whatever clothing I manage to squeeze it into. If you can picture this, I am kept in check, similar to a dam holding back a rushing stream. Without spandex, parts of me would ebb, and ripple, perhaps flood.

          Some of the wording in this self-help document will contain my new motto, get out! This sounds simple, doesn't it? I must take my soft self outside. I must get out of my head, and out of my apartment. No more ruts and routines to distract me. I suppose this applies to the kitchen, too. Just get out.

          In my darkest hour, which actually occurred during a blackout, I gorged on an entire package of delectable chocolate chip cookies. Hey, I rationalized my binge. There was no electricity to cook with, and those treats were so easy to grab. My only physical activity then took me in search of a flashlight. Sigh, the get out will also apply to future cookies. From now on they are not welcome in my home.

          With this new mandate, I will exercise my right, okay the necessity, of preparing and cooking healthy food. All that shopping, lugging, chopping, stirring, counts as positive action, correct? Is it possible to burn calories before they are consumed?

         I must honour this contract of self-improvement. I need to value myself, and strive to embrace physical exercise. No one can do this for me. All the money in the world cannot buy me a strong body. Yes, some money would be nice, and I'd use it to purchase a new pair of sneakers. I will incorporate a daily walk into this agreement. I decree that me, myself and I learn to anticipate and appreciate a stroll about the neighbourhood. Our first challenge will be to huff and puff as far as the post, the tall flag pole in the park. There's a waiting bench at its base, and I'm certain I will require its services.

         I, Tonya promise to pursue a new level of fitness. This is the rough draft. I am working it out. ( 496 words )