February 29, 2008
WARNING: long, long post ahead.
I feel bad for my zippers--the zippers on my pants that is. The poor fools can barely hold themselves together in the midst of my rapidly expanding waistline. It's true, I've put on a few pounds, and no matter how hard I try to meditate this weight away, it just won't budge.
The one thing that I have gained as a result of my meditation is some clarity as to why I need to special order a butt-bra. Listen to this.
When I lived in Texas, I woke up every morning, ate breakfast, and met my friend Beth for a three-and-a-half mile walk. Most of the time, I was pushing two toddlers in a double jogger while Beth managed her pregnant belly or her newborn baby. After Jared got home from school, we would eat dinner together as a family, load James into the baby jogger and go for our regular two-mile loop. Oh, and one more thing--I was running anywhere between twenty and forty miles a week last year. And lifting weights at the Y. And riding my bike every Saturday.
I can't lie, seeing that in writing makes me a little bit angry that I didn't jump on the chance to dye my hair blond and wear leotards to the grocery store.
Now let's take a moment and compare that to my life today. I wake up every morning around 5:30 and I'm out the door by six. I come to work, where I sit on my can for eight hours with the exception of an occasional trip to the water cooler, or the meeting room, or the donut plate. I usually don't take a lunch break, because seriously, I've become a guilty working mom, and I'd rather leave the office an hour earlier to see my kid than eat lunch with Robert the sewer inspection guy.
During my drive home I begin to think about how little I've been exercising these days and make a deal with myself to do a quick three miler the moment I pull into my driveway. I feel pumped, I feel excited, and then it happens.
The side door swings open, and there he is--my two-year-old son, wearing nothing but a diaper, a superhero cape, and a humongous grin. He'll usually hurl himself right into my arms and say something completely endearing like, "I messed you so much today Big Mister! Yet's pway cars." Obviously, at that point, the idea of sparing even thirty minutes to go for a run has vaporized, and I'm lying on the floor pretending to make a miniature school bus fly.
I manage to squeeze a walk or a run in every now and again, but it's nothing like it used to be. Get this, Jared had to have the shafts on our stroller wheels rebuilt yesterday because I put almost 3,000 miles on it last year and wore them down to nothing. And do you know how I reacted when he told me this news? I sh** you not, I said, "Ugh, Jared. I hope you didn't use up all of our fun money for the week by doing that, because I was planning on signing up for the fish-fry at work tomorrow!"
What can I say? I'm a New Englander and it's completely sacrilegious to say no to a fish fry. So think of me at noon today, I'll be the one balancing two tall plates and a pint of ketchup.
Fortunately, that's all of the bad, whiny news. The good news is, I've taken the reigns and found a way to address this problem. Trust me, after having a dream that your husband was sending you to Mexico to undergo discount gastric-bypass surgery against your will, you would make a change too. And yes, I honestly had that dream this week.
Maybe you're wondering what my new plan is?
Well I thought about a treadmill, but frankly, I despise treadmills and I'd rather push a city bus through a mud pit for my daily dose of exercise.
I thought about a gym membership, but honestly, I have a severe case of guilty mom syndrome and I would shrivel up in guilt if I ever had the slightest inclination to use the gym on a weekday.
So, I've made a commitment to run on the weekends, I bought a stationary trainer for my road bike that I can use at home on weeknights, and we're doing weekly weigh-ins every Monday at work. As a side note, I will be wearing a hospital gown and flip-flops to work every Monday, just to give myself an edge. In an effort to maintain motivation I'm going to cap off this new regimen with a duathlon in the spring. And I almost forget, my husband is going to make a zillion dollars during his first year in practice so I can resume my former life as a stay-at-home-mom and exercise fiend extraordinaire.
There you have it, that's my plan. Hopefully, within a month or so, I won't be forced to tuck my flop-o-gut into my jeans anymore. We'll see.
And now I'll leave you with a question. Busy people everywhere.how do you fit exercise into your schedule? Honestly, I'm perplexed.