I'm exercising, too, or, well, I'm doing my Oprah weights in the morning. Last year around this time O magazine helpfully included these little orange cards, one for each day of the week, spelling out weight lifting and vaguely pilates-esque exercises you can do to make yourself all svelte and desirable and buff and also stave off osteoporosis, and, probably, help you reach enlightenment. My adherence to these cards has been spotty and intermittent at best; also, I lost Thursday, but I'm trying again, and now I'm on week two of doing them religiously every day. Except Thursday, which was a hard day anyway; as I recall, I had to put my feet up on a chair and do kind of reverse pushups, which meant leaving the sanctity of my bedroom for the living room and a suitable chair, thus making me far too visible to the other members of my household. M teases me mercilessly, because they're only 5 pound weights, and I do this kind of odd Lamaze/Pilates breathing while I lift them, and he thinks it's hysterical, particularly the stretching exercise he refers to as Pissing Dog. Sometimes I'm kind of glad he's gone back to school.
I'm also doing cardio, er, well, I'm walking the dog