Work It

I have the worst track record for exercise.  It's bad.  It's so bad, I thought exercise was spelled with a z until just now.  I do try, though.  A couple of weeks ago, I was determined that my exerciSe efforts would go from pitiful to plentiful.  A Happiness Project tip is "always exercise on Mondays."  So Monday morning at 6:30, I put on my spandex, planning to swing by the gym.  Six o'clock that night, I was still in purple spandex, but hadn't been to the gym.  I did break a sweat though; it was hot when I was eating that package of cookies!

I made up for Monday on Tuesday.  While I still didn't get around to going to the gym, I did see so many people out running, biking and walking that I'm pretty sure I lost a pound by osmosis.  And I stayed hydrated.  I had seen another mom drop her child off at French and jog around the neighborhood for 30 minutes during the class.  I thought it was such a good idea that I wore my workout clothes to French.  But then I sat in my car reading and drinking plenty of water the whole time.  As much as I want to believe that watching others exercise can help me get in shape, I'm afraid that working out is like salvation; you have to be responsible for your own.  Bummer on both counts, because those are two things I would really like to outsource.  I think I might get better results that way.  "Circe, what are you doing today?"  "Just sitting here drinking a cuppa joe and eating a glazed donut as big as my head.  My personal trainer is taking my yoga class for me and my salvation consultant is reading scriptures with the kids and preparing my Sunday School lesson.  She thinks she can get me into the Celestial Kingdom if she ups her temple attendance."  Talk about heaven.

Wednesday, I got to the gym with Xanthe tagging along at 11:50, only to find out that the kids' club closes at noon.  There I was, 90% of the way through the effort of making it to that darn treadmill, and I had a seven-year-old in a leopard-print tutu set to destroy it all.  Since the gym is virtually abandoned at noon, with everyone else already having gotten their workout, I put Xanthe on a treadmill at .01 mile per hour and walked as fast as I could to get my workout.  When she tired of walking, I hopped on the bike and entertained Xanthe by giving her plies and tendus to do while I furiously tried to get to my mileage goal.  I did it!  Finally.

Thursday, I optimistically started the day in my exercise clothes again, so I looked very sporty driving kids around and doing dishes and laundry.  Finally, I sprinted over to the school and darted around the track a couple of times, just to make my spandex tank top feel like it had a purpose in life.  Nobody even missed me at home, and I probably burned at least two calories.  I'm counting it as a win.

Friday, I meant to go to the gym.  I really did.  Or maybe I didn't.  Who am I trying to kid?  Well, myself, obviously.  They say to do what you're good at, and I'm really good at coming up with excuses not to exercise, so at least I'm honing a skill.  I don't have a big enough window to make it to the gym.  It's too hot outside.  The kids need me.  I'd rather go to the pool.  I can't do everything on my list, so I have to cross something out.  It's too late.  It's too early.  While those things are all true at any given time, I'm still wearing my purple spandex...just so I won't have to take a shower.  You know, because I'm planning on going to the gym.  Now I'm using something that I don't do as an excuse to get out of doing something else.  Man, I'm good.

 Here's me being athletic.  That's not sweat.  The sprinklers got me on my way to the mailbox.  And as long as we're being completely honest, I only put on the workout clothes to take a picture for my blog.  Like I said, this is me.  Being athletic.