By Sophia Yakumithis
Don’t let these chicken arms fool you: fitness is not something I’m a stranger to. In fact, I schedule my class times around my workout routine because of how antsy I get without doing it.
I do a mix of pilates, high intensity interval training and walking every day, which gives me a perfect balance of toning and cardio. I do these things first thing in the morning before anyone else is awake so that I can take time to myself in peace and quiet and not worry about clamoring to “squeeze in a workout” if something spontaneously arises during my day.
Nothing I do requires a gym membership, just self discipline and motivation. Yeah, I’m tooting my own horn, but you would too if you had a glorious, rippling six-pack. It almost compensates for my mosquito-bite titties.
With all that said, I’m lucky that coming back to college hasn’t done a thing to my routine. But what has changed this semester, in face of a pandemic-induced lack of places to go, is that I find myself going on aimless walks. All. Day. Long. So, while walking is certainly a wholesome exercise, I’ve discovered that it’s really only relaxing when done in moderation.
I fear for my ass.
Yeah, my buttocks. My toosh. My keister. My hindquarters. “But walking will tone what your mama gave ya!” Okay well first of all, my mom must’ve been greedy because if you’ve seen me, you know that I’m not exactly a sizable person. Hell, I’m being generous; I’m PUNY at most. Literally a string bean. I can fit into kid’s sized clothing and I’m one of the few 21-year-olds who doesn’t get called “ma’am,” even occasionally.
Therefore the pressing concern I have for the precious cargo located on my back side is that it will tone disproportionately to the rest of my body, which will inevitably stay trim because of all the cardio, giving me the illusion of an absolute WAGON. Like, I’m talkin’ the mom from “The Incredibles.”
Why is that a bad thing, you ask?
While most women strive for an irresistible, juicy peach they can sell for hundreds of dollars on OnlyFans, in my case, having a dump truck ass would just be utterly weird. My ass is the only part of my body with any form of shape, so taking what little curve I have into unchartered water might make me look bizarre, or even worse, make me self-conscious in hot pants. And who wants that?! My boyfriend, probably. But what do I care? He doesn’t have to carry this thing around, he just gets to look at it and sometimes hold on to it for dear life.
I’m so fixated on my ass shape because I have absolutely nothing else to think about. Sure, I could go read Machiavelli for my course on urban cultural development. Sure, I could put together a research proposal on patterns of trade among Flemish art collectors in the Northern Renaissance. But why the f— would I do either of those things when I’ve got a burgeoning badonkadonk to fixate on to the point of complete and utter insanity?
So if you see me walking in front of you, feel free to take in all the sights, fellas. Because I’ve got a feeling that in a few weeks, hundreds of thousands of miles walked later, you’ll have a great opportunity for some sightseeing during these “unprecedented times.”