Okay, so the other day I was slouched on the couch, battling the eternal existential crisis about my lack of motivation to work out. Then I stumble across this whole craze about ‘7 Minute Daily Home Ab Workout’ thing. And let me be honest, my initial reaction was somewhere between ‘Yeah, right’ and ‘Sign me up!’ (because who wouldn’t want a six-pack STAT, right?).
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I mean, when you think about it, 7 minutes sounds like the perfect amount of time. It’s the length of time it takes to pop popcorn in the usual dysfunctional microwave. But then again, when was the last time anything truly miraculous happened in under 7 minutes? (Okay, maybe binge-eating half a tub of ice cream) But we’re talking abs here, not Rocky Road.
Here’s the funny part – I decided to give it a whirl. Like, what’s the worst that could happen? I end up on the floor swearing at planks like everyone else from my old gym class. I start this routine, right, and immediately I’m questioning my life choices. Get this – I’m doing leg raises, and my cat decides it’s the perfect moment to casually park herself on my stomach. Like, thanks for the added weight, Fluffy, goes so well with my non-existent core strength.
So, I’m at about five minutes in, heart pounding, sweat making me rethink my choice of a wool rug for a workout surface (who even thinks wool is a good idea?!), and I’m reminded of this yoga series I’ve read about that actually has real exercises that don’t involve pretending a small feline is part of the process. It’s annoying how such a tiny furball becomes the highlight of the pain journey.
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Anyway, think about it – in those 7 minutes, I’m supposed to feel like I’ve transformed into some Greek god. But here I am, collapsing like a deflated beach ball by the end of it. Sure, there’s something rewarding about the little muscle quivers and faint ab definition (or is that just the lighting?), but I’m starting to wonder if I’m missing some fine print on this workout promise. Like, maybe you need to actually believe in it like some kind of ab fairy for it to work. Either way, I guess I’ll stick it out and see if I end up with more to show for my agony than just a disgruntled cat.
Meanwhile, I’m going to hunt for something that involves less potential for feline interference. Ugh, maybe I should just stick to power walking till then. My abs aren’t holding any breath.