I almost didn’t do it, so comfortable was I in my leopard pajamas and furry slippers, reading the thoroughly delightful cookbook Bought, Borrowed, Stolen, with Smudge in my lap and a cup of Honeybush Hazelnut tea in my hand.
But then I thought of all of you.
The first 20 burpees felt just fine, thank you very much. I actually felt-thought, Wheeee! This is fun. I’m flying. The remainder of the time was a huffing, puffing misery. I didn’t care for the way I could feel my roundish belly peeking over the waistband of my pants (Can’t waist seconds pulling them up! Keep moving, you big baby!), nor did I appreciate the one wisp of hair over my right ear that insisted on coming loose from my braid.
7 minutes. 72 burpees.
64 Responses to “72 Burpees. 2 Major Complaints.”
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