Welcome to my annual bitch session about having to do cardio. Nice to see you.

I did something different for this post and used an actual picture of myself running up the bleacher stairs at the local high school. Somehow, someone I didn’t see sitting there snapped this picture and sent it to me with this caption:

“You look really tall in this picture! Doesn’t even look like you!”

Telling a short girl that she looks tall in a photo is code for “You look skinny.” Hey, I’m 55, I’ll take what I can get. No harm no foul.

Obviously, that isn’t me, I was teasing you. It’s Friday, let’s keep it light, shall we?

I’m not going to drone on and on about how much I hate forced cardio, don’t worry. You know I love hiking and golf and skiing and tennis and all of the fun activities that improve your cardiovascular system, but that I hate having to “walk the bridge,” or “take a run,” or “get on the treadmill,” or “do some jump roping and jumping jacks.”

I guess my disdain for cardio dates back to high school softball. We had to run when we did something stupid.

Yeah, I ran a lot.

So I avoid it, because I guess on some level, I equate it with punishment. But I can always feel it in my core (my physical core, not spiritual) when my wind is low. I walked through the city with my son a few weeks ago, and just that brisk walk, while not making me winded, still made my circulatory system protest somewhat.

Time to get my wind back. Ugh. I did a half hour Monday, 45 minutes on Tuesday, an hour Wednesday, 90 minutes Thursday, you get the idea. I’ve walked the beach, ran a trail, and climbed a bridge. Gotta keep it interesting.

This post has absolutely no point, other than to introduce the word “cardiugh” into the casual American lexicon. Feel free to use it. You don’t even have to reference me.