Friday, February 10, 2012

a kindred kourtney

In the winter when the nights are too dark and cold for doing anything fun, I like to curl up in front of the TV. Sometimes I like watching the Kardashians act silly. Besides my shameless fascination with TV-celebrity lives, I also like to make myself feel like a good person by comparing myself to a bunch of nasally paparazzi targets with strange nose jobs. These women wear makeup in the bathtub for Chrissakes.

Usually after 10 minutes of dramatic background music and rich-girl whining, I get a bit queasy and switch to something wholesome like Flying Wild Alaska. That is only a half-joke.

Yesterday when I was working out on the elliptical, I propped an old copy of Shape magazine in front of the time display. A bronze, bikinied Kourtney Kardashian was plastered on the cover. I flipped through, half-reading articles about sweat-proof lipgloss and men-ogling techniques.

Then I came to the Kardashian article. It was about Kourtney getting in shape after nine months of being preggo. After (I'm assuming) getting help from a bunch of five-star chefs, a personal trainer and nutritionist-to-the-stars, Kourtney runs. And dayum, this girl could be a Nike ad.

(from the official Kourtney-K website. gag.)
In the article, she talks about how she thinks gyms are boring and frustrating. She'd rather go for a run, she says, since thirty minutes of cardio is right outside the door. I found out from a other trashy celebrity-news sources that Kourtney also eats super-fresh foods, refuses to give up peanut M&M's, and strength trains to play up her Kardashian-ness (read: booty).

Huh. Those words could have literally come out of my mouth. Minus the booty.

Okay, so Kourtney's probably not the best athlete in the world - I doubt she's running to win any races. But she does look great. And she's absolutely right about one thing: working out at a gym kind of sucks. Getting there takes a bunch of time, and you have to pay for it. Then you're stuck inside on communal machine soaked in someone else's sweat. Why would you want to trap yourself inside when you could just walk outside and roam free in the fresh air?

I don't know if I'm brain-damaged from breathing too much indoor-air recently, but that article was really kind of inspiring. Moral of the story: I'm taking care of my feet. That means suffering through a few more elliptical workouts until I feel completely better. I want to run barefoot on the beach with Kourtney Kardashian and then put on a bunch of makeup and wave to the paparazzi.

Also, I don't want to be hobbling around New Zealand in TEN DAYS.

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