On Working Out

I'm one of those rare strange people who actually likes working out . . . or at least I used to. Since I had Andrew, my motivation has waned somewhat. For me the biggest downside to working out is that I tend to become . . . ummm . . . what's the word . . . oh yeah, obsessive about it. Which completely unlike me (insert sarcastic tone here).

I start out saying that I'm not going to push myself to the brink of death. I'm working out for my health not to break some kind of world record for the slowest time anyone's ever run a mile (I think I might possibly be the world's slowest runner . . . I can feel like I'm running like the wind when I'm practically standing still). But then some sort of switch flips, and I go into insane mode. I run. I lift five pound weights (my upper body strength is unmatched by that of any five year old out there). I do nine hundred fifty-seven crunches. I squat. I lunge. Remind me to tell y'all sometime about how my obsessive running (also known as ridiculously overdoing it) once led to horrible tendinitis in my knee . . . actually that's the whole story . . . you don't have to remind me. Just when I get into the shape I want to be in, I get tired and burnt out, and I quit (at least for a while). I've been in this cycle since Andrew was born. Before he came along, my time was really my own, so my whole exercise obsession was maintained consistently throughout college and the early years of my marriage.

So with spring looming and summer a few months away, I looked in the mirror this morning and thought, "I've got to get in shape." And of course I told myself I would walk a nice brisk two miles. Then I got on the treadmill. I thought to myself, "I'll run just a little bit. You know, just to get my heart rate up." I ran a mile without stopping. Now before you tell me how pathetic that is you should know that I haven't worked out at all in almost two months. Word to the wise, don't try to get back into shape by almost killing yourself. After I finished the first mile, I made myself walk a fast paced mile. Y'all my legs felt like they weighed 600 pounds, but I felt strong. I felt powerful. I am woman hear me roar. Okay, I'll stop now.

I'm determined to get back in shape and to keep the insano obsessive exercise freak at bay. Overall, when I work out, I feel happier and less stressed. So here's hoping that tomorrow I'm just as motivated. Either that or I need someone to get behind me with a horse whip.