Me? Out of shape? No, mine’s just a mushy blob-type shape.

Spring has burst upon the scene in Chicago just as my pants are ready to burst at the seams. And those are my stretchy sweats! Here’s how I can tell I’m out of shape …

I now walk faster than I am physically able to run. That’s just sad.

My running shoes I bought on fall clearance still have the tags on them.

I left the Donald Trump speech continue on CNN because the remote control was just out of my reach.

I’ve attached my fitbit to the swinging pendulum of our grandfather clock.

If I can’t find my stress ball, I just squeeze my stomach fat.

Blogging exhausts me.


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