There’s a really beautiful movement going on in the blogosphere called “Things I’m Afraid to Tell You.” I wholly believe this is a well-intentioned crusade in which bloggers can “confess” to realities that they perhaps are a little ashamed of. Unfortunately, I can’t really participate in this wave of truth as I’m pretty sure I border on over-share here at A Broad at Home. I mean, I have a category called “Sweat,” which means at one point I was pretty sure I would be writing about sweat enough to make it an oft-used category. Enough said.
There’s not really too much I’m afraid to tell you. Sure, there are some weird things I do, such as cover every single light in my room before I go to be. Only the LED light on the television is allowed to live and that’s only because my feet mostly block it from my eyesight. Or, take the fact that I like to microwave my salsa before eating it because the thought of eating cold tomato-based sauces makes me squirm (in a very bad way). Yeah, I do weird things. In the words of a sassy middle school, “It’s, like, whatever.”
If I must be completely honest (and I must!) there is one aspect of my life that is a little blush-inducing: my choice of workout music. It’s not something I’m especially proud of, I suppose it is my greatest weakness. As kryptonite is to Superman (?) bad pop/remix music is to moi. This morning as I was getting my fitness on, the song “Magic” came on and I couldn’t help but laugh as I thought of how ridiculous this whole song is. It’s so not me, but in a way, it’s all me. It’s upbeat and catchy, and mostly positive, forgoing the whole women-are-targets-for-my-pent-up-anger route that many of these songs tend to take. It’s actually really fun to listen to, but truthfully I am a little embarrassed about it.
This is not an US Weekly “Stars, They’re Just Like Us”moment, rather it is me trying to convince you to also listen to this song and lean on it when you just don’t think you can run any longer, spin any longer, power walk with your arms swinging like a pendulum any longer. It’s that good. And hopefully it will make you laugh.
Courtney, I’m thinking of you here. And our jam-packed rides home from the gym. Good times.
A Broad At Home 