MORE!
Someone who revolves life around eating and drinking the way I do has two choices, the way I see it:
- Do some exercise to keep things burning and keep plowing through the calories
- Keep having to buy bigger pants
Each of these options has treated me well at various stages in the life of Keri.
Each of them has also done me mega-wrong at some point as well.
Since I have really cute pants in the line-up just now, and since (in spite of my constant allusions to it being so suburbany-stupid-big,) I could conceivably run out of room in my closet if I keep going the new pants route, incorporating some purposeful movement into things tends to win out lately.
Prior to the arrival of Jr., I was the “go to the gym to work out” type. Spinning and Deep Water Aerobics were favorite classes, and it all happened at 5:30 am at the fitness center attached to the university where I worked, leaving me plenty of time to put myself together in the cushy locker area and trot across the street to start my work day.
Maybe it is the three years of intermittent sleep-deprivation that came as a free-gift-with-purchase with Jr., but I look back now and think “How the HELL did I ever get anywhere by 5:30 am? How did I not fall off that bike more? (Side note, I actually did fall of that bike once. It was spectacularly embarrassing and to this day I blame faulty padding in my cushy-assed bike shorts, but whatever. )
There is no working the family schedule with that kind of sitch at this point anyway, so I don’t have to pretend that sounds even remotely appealing anymore.
Last year I did a membership to the rec center located close to us, and worked my visits into midday hours when Jr is ensconced at day care or hanging with NeNe-the-wonder-grandma.
Fitting in was not something that really happened for me there. I opted out of another year of that.
When it isn’t snot-freezing cold or swass-inducing hot, (Google it,) it is nice to take it outside into the Colorado sunshine (although my outdoor activity reputation does lean more toward the “happy hour on the patio” variety, I confess.)
HOWEVER, at this point, the option that sees the most action in my suburban existence is the vast selection of OnDemand workouts courtesy of cable TV. With baby monitor in hand, dressed in jammies, in the semi-dark of the 6a.m. living room, and with nobody to judge me but the dog. (Which he does harshly, if the volume of his sighs is any indication. I swear I’ve seen him roll his eyes a few times.)
The unintended bastardisation of the demonstrated movements that takes place during these early morning displays is nothing shy of mortifying, I am sure.
If The Mr. ever wants to win big on America’s Funniest Home Videos or achieve viral YouTube success, capturing one of those sessions would get him quickly to his goal. :::making mental note to check for cameras in living room:::
BE THAT AS IT MAY – I have found some selections that have kicked my ass, leaving me dripping and panting and finding ways to use muscles I didn’t know I even had.
My ridiculously uncoordinated exhibitions are over-and-done-with before the rest of the fam is even starting to stir, and I am on my way to planning my day based heavily on what to eat (and what to wash it down with.)
No muss, no fuss.
No witnesses.
Now, let’s get nachos, yes?
Reluctantly Suburban 