I had to go out and get an exercycle because it seems every fat cell in my body has decided to relocate to my middle.
Now, I'm not making excuses here but take into account the fact that I've reached the dreaded mid-30s metabolism slowdown, add in almost year's worth of general couch potato-ness due to my accident related neck injury (and the fear of the resulting OMGPLEASESOMEBODYENDMYMISERY headaches if I dared to do too much), and toss in a lot of that relatively cheap and easy to acquire muscle relaxant (beer) and you have the perfect storm of things that will make Breda squishy in places that she doesn't like being squishy.
I also had to buy new pants. Being 5'0" tall and having curves made me hate shopping for pants for as long as I can remember. Most of the the petite section is either designed for stickfigures, have elastic waists for tiny arthritic grandmas, or are still too long, dammit. There are few choices for a woman with both an ass and a ridiculously short inseam.
So, being forced to go shopping because I've gotten squishy? Talk about incentive. I pedal, pedal, pedal until I'm sweaty and my heart is trying to pound through my sternum. Then I do some weights, some push-ups, some leg lifty type motions and then I pedal again until I just can't do any more. I listen to music, drink a lot of water, and think of the guy who rear ended me (twice). It's actually a perfect outlet for that particular rage - I think, "RAWR! I'll fight you!" type thoughts and they spur me on. That, and not having a muffin top hanging over the waistband of my jeans.
So there you have it - my "You Can Stop When You're Wobbly" workout system. I figure it's better than nothing.