On Saturday, for a while I forgot that I'm a chunky 33-year-old mother of three, and dropped it like it's hot at a club with my neighbor. It's been a long, long, LONG time since I shook my money maker, and that was many pounds ago. Despite this fact, I got all dolled up in a borderline-slutty new outfit and put my inhibitions in the closet for the evening and really enjoyed myself. So much so, that I didn't feel my knees screaming for me to stop. I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point, all of my killer moves did enough damage to my knees that I could barely even walk yesterday. I consulted my at home physician (WebMd), and concluded I had given myself Patellofamoral Pain Syndrome, commonly known as "runner's knee". This is especially hilarious, given the fact that I can't even run a 10th of a mile without having an asthma attack. I'm better today, but my ego is seriously wounded at being reminded that I'm neither as young or as thin as I used to be. All the more reason to continue working towards getting in shape.