Wedding workout countdown

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I have approximately 2 weeks to lose 8-10 pounds so that I look smokin’ hot in a certain dress. 

A certain tourquoise and brown halter dress.  

So no, not my wedding dress. I’d have to lose 10-15 pounds to look as smokin’ hot as I did in that dress nearly four years ago. (If I don’t say so myself.)

Over Columbus Day weekend we’re headed to Cape Cod for one of my oldest friend’s weddings, and as the mother of a toddler, I perhaps have even more ego about arriving at said wedding looking smokin’ hot.  What do I want to prove? That having a child hasn’t “changed” me? Ha. That I’m happy with our decision to move to Indiana? Ha. That I have retained a modicum of self respect and control and take care of myself? Hmmmm. Or is it that the bride’s mother has always been exceedingly competitive about me and and her daughter, comparing and contrasting our tastes, abilities, and achievements since we were in the second grade? Bingo!

Here’s the thing: I may have been a better flute player and gone to a famous high school that she didn’t get into, but we went to equally good colleges (her’s was even an ivy league), and from there, I’d say she wins. She wins, Mrs. Mom Friend! Here’s the current tally from my perspective:

1.Your daughter is model-thin and gorgeous, while I’ve struggled with food, chubbiness and have never been asked at a dance club if I would like to go up in “the cage” to go-go dance, suspended from the ceiling because I’m so damn sexy.

2. She is truly an athlete, having competeted in water polo, swim meets, track meets, triathlons, even marathons, while I have chugged along at slow speeds during much shorter endurance races, mostly with the goal of getting skinnier as motivation.

3. She is a doctor and has an expensive sportscar I could never afford. I can only wave my dinky MFA degree from the window of a used Honda while I sing a f*ing nursey rhyme to a whiny toddler in the back seat.

4. She was proposed to at a glorious fountain in Italy while I received my ring while leaning against a parking meter on Newbury Street (which has its own sweet story and I am not slamming you, Sweet Cheeks, I am simply trying to make a point about station in life here so please don’t take it personally I love you, it was darling, etcetra, etcetra).

She wins! You win!

I love this friend dearly. I have never (okay so only for a brief period in high school) competed with her. We have different skill sets and personalities, and I accept this and love our differences. But is it so wrong for me to want to attend this wedding looking smokin’ hot so that her mother doesn’t get to check off one more item in the tally for how I suck and her daughter rocks? Can’t I just want to be a size 8 next to her impossibly tiny size 0?

The plan is this, and it is already underway: workout 5 days a week, with at least 3 of those workouts including really sweaty, 30-minute aerobic exercise. This week I’ve got 3 workouts under my belt and I’m confident I can tackle the final 2. And truly, honestly, this is really for me, and has little to do with impressing anyone on Cape Cod in two and a half weeks.  I have not taken care of myself this summer and it’s starting to show–physically and emotionally. Cheer me on, wouldya?

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