Good Morning, fat ass.

Yeah, so about exercise.

Exercise has always been something I did--walking, running, working out at the gym, yoga, etc. Always, my whole life, I have been active.

Until I moved to Atlanta. Where I have sat on my ever-spreading ass for the last five months. Oh, I've gone for a few runs. I've ridden my bicycle a couple of times, and I've lifted some weights and done some yoga. But I haven't done any of it on a regular basis and it shows.

My big wake-up call was going back to work. I haven't bought any scrubs yet, so I've been wearing business attire. And none of my clothes fit. Since I spent five months sitting on my ass in yoga pants, sweats, and my uber-comfy palazzos, I didn't really notice that I was getting bigger. Not just a lack of definition that would snap right back once I got back on track, but an honestly, I can't button these pants unless I hold my breath and pinch kind of bigger.

I kept telling myself they shrank in the wash, but I can't deny it anymore. I'm getting chubby. I need to work out more.