Day 4

Still not sure what to call this:
an Operation or Project
and what should the code word be:
Waistline Deadline or B-Day D-Day
My Mom likes Waistline Deadline, I like B-Day D-Day.
I have Borderline Personality Disorder; so making this decision to me is like a Mother choosing which of her twin children to save in a birth crisis. My brain has a glitch like a malfunctioning robot twitching and sparking and repeating like a broken record "Does not compute. Does not compute..."
Anyway, day 4 has been funny. I dusted off the Thighmaster, rolled out my yoga mat, and lumbered out my set of weighted hula hoops to the deck early this morning before my stepDad got home from the road (he drives nights...).
I turn thirty next year; so it's been a while since I played with a hula hoop or skipbo or any of those tubular toys that kept us girls cool And in good shape back in the 80's & 90's and prior. I looked like a fool.
After countless attempts with the big hoop, I took a break and used the two small arm hoops for a while, and Jiminy Cricket it's hard! Weighted hula hoops are nothing to scoff at. Sure, mine are pink and black and white, they mean business. Yeek. A few minutes later, after my wings were worn out, I tried the giant weighted hula hoop of shame again. I managed three rotations!!!!! Progress. Ha. After several More tries, I began to get it. Before I knew it, I'd done more stretching than hula hooping because I'd been dropping the hoop and reaching to pick it up again a Lot. I should be very limber soon at this rate. By the end of my half hour, I had the hang of it and my obliques were reminding me why I'm not a belly dancer (well, part of the reason was the tea light dance when I dripped wax all over myself then dropped the lit candle in my hair. My mid-eastern ancestors groaned in there graves somewhere that day).
So, I'm down to 200.1 and tuckered out, but stoked. Kowabunga dudettes!
Tomorrow, I tackle the resistance bands. I see a snapped out eye in my future...