Christmas means eating, and there are still holiday goodies in the freezer. New Years means a lot of champagne. The January trip to visit friends out of town involved non-stop snackage. More recently, the annual battle of helmeted and padded warriors chasing a bit of inflated pig hide was accompanied by the annual glut of dubious comestibles. Plus, there are the deprivations of something called Lent to make up for ahead of time.
What with all of the above, the human female has accumulated an excess of avoir du pois. “Doughy,” I believe, is the word I’m looking for.
Her bouts of self-improvement rarely last long, but for the moment she’s quite serious about exercise. Here she is puffing along on the treadmill.
Stands to reason that if 3 miles per hour is a good brisk walking pace, making her trot at 25 mph will burn through the blubber that much faster. Vroom!
Oh, and running on an incline is good for the quads…
45 degrees ought to do it.