*Flex*
*Flex flex*
*Wheeze*
*Gasp*
*Faint*
"Well crap, I seem to be out of shape," I says to myself a while back. What to do, what to do? Drinking wine and eating cheese until I was too tipsy to give a damn how I looked didn't work. Cross that one off the list. Perhaps, just maybe, it was time to start thinking about possibly considering the idea of working out. But I didn't want to rush into anything, okay, in my state of fitness, any sort of rushing could have killed me.
I was in a bad way, I confess. I was (well, still am) a stay at home mom, somewhat socially withdrawn, maybe a little depressed at times, too fond of eating and mostly sedentary, and it was showing. The less I did, the more inertia would keep me doing nothing, and worse, every time I realized how flabby and lumpy I was getting, I would get more and more down and less and less likely to get off my expanding ass and go do something about it. Finally I shook myself up enough to start going for walks with Thomas every day and taking him out for more physical outings, like going to the zoo where we both could run around rather than just taking him to the park where I could sit and watch him play. It started to work. I got pregnant! Kept walking, wanting to be a fit mama of two! Things were going well. We lost the baby. I gained a shitload of weight from self-medicating with wine and beer every night as soon as Thomas fell asleep and just wallowing around in my own misery. I gained more weight in the month after we lost Alexander than I had the four months I'd been pregnant with him. I felt, and looked, awful. I made a decision, though, that I needed to figure out what I really wanted to be doing with myself, my life, my future. I kept coming back to one thing: I want to be a cop.
So, now I'd made a decision and it was time to do something about it. The first test I have to pass in the hiring process is the physical ability exam. I started exercising again! Yay! I started feeling better, looking a little better, bit by bit. Then I went to visit my sister in Colorado for two weeks. I didn't work out at all while I was there, but I still lost weight from swimming with the kids, walking around, and sweating like mad in the sweltering heat. Hooray! I started exercising a little as soon as I got home, but then we were moving. I used my work out time to pack boxes. Then we moved in and I used that time to unpack boxes. We were mostly moved in when I discovered that our caving in and getting cable had a side benefit - exercise TV! I was doing a 20 minute, ass-kicking workout every day! I started losing weight again! I felt great! Then Rob brought home The Plague. I was too sick to work out for three days. The day I started feeling better, I had three wisdom teeth pulled. I pussed out for another week. Then a few more days from sheer inertia again. I am, at heart, a deeply lazy person.
Today I got back on it. I did the 20 minute workout. I may die.
*Flex flex*
*Wheeze*
*Gasp*
*Faint*
"Well crap, I seem to be out of shape," I says to myself a while back. What to do, what to do? Drinking wine and eating cheese until I was too tipsy to give a damn how I looked didn't work. Cross that one off the list. Perhaps, just maybe, it was time to start thinking about possibly considering the idea of working out. But I didn't want to rush into anything, okay, in my state of fitness, any sort of rushing could have killed me.
I was in a bad way, I confess. I was (well, still am) a stay at home mom, somewhat socially withdrawn, maybe a little depressed at times, too fond of eating and mostly sedentary, and it was showing. The less I did, the more inertia would keep me doing nothing, and worse, every time I realized how flabby and lumpy I was getting, I would get more and more down and less and less likely to get off my expanding ass and go do something about it. Finally I shook myself up enough to start going for walks with Thomas every day and taking him out for more physical outings, like going to the zoo where we both could run around rather than just taking him to the park where I could sit and watch him play. It started to work. I got pregnant! Kept walking, wanting to be a fit mama of two! Things were going well. We lost the baby. I gained a shitload of weight from self-medicating with wine and beer every night as soon as Thomas fell asleep and just wallowing around in my own misery. I gained more weight in the month after we lost Alexander than I had the four months I'd been pregnant with him. I felt, and looked, awful. I made a decision, though, that I needed to figure out what I really wanted to be doing with myself, my life, my future. I kept coming back to one thing: I want to be a cop.
So, now I'd made a decision and it was time to do something about it. The first test I have to pass in the hiring process is the physical ability exam. I started exercising again! Yay! I started feeling better, looking a little better, bit by bit. Then I went to visit my sister in Colorado for two weeks. I didn't work out at all while I was there, but I still lost weight from swimming with the kids, walking around, and sweating like mad in the sweltering heat. Hooray! I started exercising a little as soon as I got home, but then we were moving. I used my work out time to pack boxes. Then we moved in and I used that time to unpack boxes. We were mostly moved in when I discovered that our caving in and getting cable had a side benefit - exercise TV! I was doing a 20 minute, ass-kicking workout every day! I started losing weight again! I felt great! Then Rob brought home The Plague. I was too sick to work out for three days. The day I started feeling better, I had three wisdom teeth pulled. I pussed out for another week. Then a few more days from sheer inertia again. I am, at heart, a deeply lazy person.
Today I got back on it. I did the 20 minute workout. I may die.
posted by Theoretical Grammatarian at 1:33 PM
1 Comments:
I hear you. I had been doing great with exercise, even getting myself up to running a mile. And then I threw out my back and possibly fractured my toe about 2 1/2 weeks ago. I want to get back to it, but it's difficult.
Congratulations on your progress, and for figuring out what you want to do!
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