This Square Peg.

Happily Not Fitting In Since 1978.




Ask me the last time I went to the gym. Go on, ask me. It’s ok. Ask me. Go on.

Me on the couch. As usual.
Me on the couch. As usual.

I can’t even remember.

That’s right. All the good work I accomplished in the summer with walking and working out has gone to the dogs. I can’t even remember the last time I entered my local gym, which is sad because the gym doesn’t forget to extract their monthly membership, do they?

So in case you haven’t heard, the East Coast in currently consumed by an arctic cold. Somehow, we’ve entered the mid-January type dredges of winter one month into autumn (no surprise there. Autumn lasts about 5 minutes in these parts). That means that from morning to night, there’s no comfortable place outside of your home. Everywhere is painfully cold. Scarves wrapped around frozen faces, ineffectual gloves covering our poor fingers, big winter coats that are kind of powerless against the unrelenting chill in the air. Now: combining all of the latter with shorter days and darkness by 5pm? Means that I won’t ever leave my house to go to the gym ever again. Not until next year. Next spring. Next summer. I mean, it is cold, you guys. And where it’s not cold is my living room, where I have my couch, some ginger ale, and episodes of Castle and re-runs of Murder, She Wrote. One cannot expect me to abandon those things for an hour on a loveless elliptical. Why not work out at home, someone may ask? Well, that’s why I have a gym membership. The motivation for me to work out at home is as powerful as my desire to walk outside right now without a hat and gloves. In other words, when at home, working out is the last thing I want to do.

So what’s the solution here? How can I marry my desire to stay in the house with my slightly muted but admittedly very present desire to keep my exercise routine going and not diminish all the strides I made this year?


Right. I’m staying in.

(Especially difficult is the fact that I want to ingest every bad carbohydrate ever created while sitting on the couch with my remote. All is lost, my friends. My face is getting dangerously puffy.) exercise

Any suggestions?


things I currently need…

Come to me, my pretty...
Come to me, my pretty…













Hopefully the name (Pegasus) means I'll be involved in some sort of flight?
Hopefully the name (Pegasus) means I’ll be involved in some sort of flight?






















Fake Limps and 5Ks.

So, quite randomly this morning, I made a mental note to do a search for 5Ks in the area and sign up for one as soon as possible. Moments later, I found myself marveling a bit. We’ve come a looong way, baby. Follow me, won’t you?5K

  1. This is the girl who chose to take zeroes for the day rather than dress up for gym class in high school.
  2. This is the girl who forged her mother’s signature (I wish I was kidding) to excuse her from gym class in high school.
  3. This is the girl who faked a limp in order to get out of participating in the mile run for gym class in high school. (And my gym teacher let me hold the stopwatch, too.)


This 5K will be my fourth one. I marvel. I really do. Obviously, back in the day, not being one of the fast or the coordinated meant I had no desire to do anything related to phys. ed. Add to the humilation of dressing out in the proximity of a personal bully who loved to highlight the many imperfections of my adolescent physique and there was no way I was going to voluntarily ever enjoy something like exercise. (The treadmill in my parents’ home was used to hang clothes. You get my drift.)

But we grow. Bullies go away, school ends, and doctors give you the side eye when they look at those adult lbs on your medical chart. As such, I began voluntarily exercising when I moved into my first apartment many moons ago, which had a gym on the bottom floor. The treadmill was my equipment of choice, and it still is. Nothing like walking and listening to music and sweating. Post high school horrors, I’ve always enjoyed walking, whether leisurely or for a 5K. The best part is that I move to the beat of my own drum, at my speed, and at my level.

No fake limps necessary.

walking3 walking2 walking1

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