Some of you (okay, two) have been asking if I still get up at 4:30 in the dark of the morning to exercise. That is, sweating, on purpose.
Which completely goes against my nature.
The answer is a very tired, yes.
Up until a few months ago, I ran only when being chased. The weights I lifted were my industrial sized son, who can and does wrestle me to the ground. And my idea of a stretch was trying to pass off the extra weight as premenstrual bloating.
I’m still meeting my SIL, Trish, 3 to 4 mornings a week. And we’re often joined by two other sisters. Which is comforting. Because we know each other very very well. And it’s perfectly okay that we don’t look or smell good that early.
It has gotten a little easier since Jensen seems to have turned a corner and is sleeping through the night more often than not. As soon as that leveled off, though, Emme began sleep walking.
Bleary eyed I would whine, THEY ARE TAKING TURNS TRYING TO DRIVE ME INSANE? IT’S LIKE TAG TEAM. PEOPLE HAVE DIED FROM SLEEP DEPRIVATION, YOU KNOW.
But thankfully, the nocturnal wandering seems to have abated. Or at least she’s not coming into our room and flipping the light on.
I’ve gotten it all down to a science. I preset my mini Mr. Coffee pot with the pre-workout dose of caffeine. I pull out my mug the night before and measure the required amount of sugar. I set a spoon and saucer out as well for stirring. And most importantly, a stick of gum sits beside the pot, so that I don’t offend anyone I might happen upon in the dark of the night as I exit my house.
I’ve noticed, however, the stick of gum has been missing the last few mornings, and the silver wrapper sits atop the garbage as evidence.
Fiddledaddy has denied any wrongdoing. He is trying to focus blame on the resident sleep walker. I’m not buying it.
As a bonus, the plague of frogs (for which I dedicated an entire blog category) that had greeted me in weeks past as I attempt to exit my house quietly have all but disappeared.
Or perhaps they are just biding their time, lulling me into a sense of false security.
Here’s the part where I’d love to tell you that I’m svelte and muscular, and can slither into white hip huggers.
Are hip huggers even in style anymore? Were they ever?
I’d love to tell you those things, but I would be lying. Which is frowned upon in most Christian circles. I will tell you what has happened because of a regular exercise regiment.
•My endurance has increased. I no longer fall to the floor after 10 minutes on the treadmill. In fact, I’ve increased my cardio to 25 minutes. And I could go longer. If you double dog dared me.
•I’ve increased the weight of the dumbbells (a term I find offensive) that I use during the workout DVD. And yes, we’re still using the P90X Beachbody workout. I have some definition in my arms, and the turkey waddle that plagued my upper arms is gone.
When I started, the 3 pound weights made me cry like a little girl. Now I heave the 12 pound weights like matchsticks, and may even step it up to 15 pounds next week. If you triple dog dare me.
•I can wear a pair of shorts without people pointing and laughing at my legs. Any pointing and laughing that happens, has nothing to do with my legs. Of that, I’m certain.
•Most importantly, my depression is much MUCH more manageable. My doctor told me last year that I absolutely had to start exercising, if I ever wanted to get better. The next step would have been medication. Which can cause weight gain. And excessive body hair.
That put things into a better perspective for me.
Yes. I’d rather be sleeping in. But, I’m proud of myself that I’ve stuck with something that is actually good for me.
I’ll leave you with my favorite exercise quote. It sums it up rather well for me.
“I have to exercise in the morning before my brain figures out what I’m doing.”