So, I got the bill for my gym membership in the mail the other day.
That's $127 I'll never see again.
I know, I know...you're saying, "So, Kath, how's that New Year's resolution to get healthy going?" It's going - really, it is. It's just not going to the gym.
I have a treadmill in my basement, which I use a lot over going to the gym. It's just that it's right there. I don't even have to leave the house. I can hop on when Baby E is napping or when the other boys are watching t.v. or building Legos. I can listen to my ipod and sing as loudly as I want. Cee Lo and I can shout out, "Forget You (clean version only around the kids)," or I can obnoxiously agree with Gaga, "Nebraska, I love ya!" And my boys don't even bat an eye. They figure that Mommy is just singing again. Being Mommy.
I like to rock out and dance/walk or dance/run. I can run like this, and no one is around to see me (the boys don't seem to think it's strange at all). I can do weird interval sprints or walk backwards or sideways or on my hands if I want to (no, I'm not that talented). I don't have to worry about how I am working out or how hard or for how long, because no one has to know but me.
Sounds great, right?
Only when it works out (no pun intended).
The disadvantage of trying to exercise at home versus going to the gym is that the baby monitor, not me, determines the length of my workout. When Baby E is done with his nap, I'm done with my work out. At the gym, someone else is watching him, and I can have up to three hours to exercise and shower (not that I ever use that time, but maybe I will some day - I can dream).
At the gym, there's obviously so much more equipment than I have at home, and trainers to help me use it. There is a vibe there, too. All around, people are getting fit and healthy, and I push myself to get into that same rhythm. I silently compete with others as I look around the gym. I've never matched the number of miles I've run at the gym on my home treadmill. It's too easy to quit at home.
And too easy not to start at all. Oftentimes, I will lay Baby E down for his nap, and before I even get on the treadmill, I think I can just quickly clean up the breakfast dishes. And throw in a load of laundry. And check my e-mail. And, oh, as long as I'm on the computer, I'll see what people are talking about on Facebook this morning.
And before I know it, my time is up - and so is the baby.
My only inspiration and motivation at home are my too tight spring clothes and my flabby image staring back at me in the mirror. At the gym, there are lots of other women, the ones I see every time I go, who are in great shape. And I don't mean in an intimidating, hard-body, spandex type of way. My gym is not like that - that's why I chose it. I mean in a way I could be if I would make it a priority to go regularly. I once met a darling octogenarian who gets a ride to the gym five days a week! She was beautiful and happy and perky - a true role model for life longevity.
Plus, the scale at the gym has a sign over it that says, "Smile! You're beautiful!"
My scale at home says, "Hey, Fatass! Why haven't you lost this weight yet?"
This morning, I had planned on going to the gym. I even called yesterday to reserve a spot for Baby E in the nursery. When I woke up, I put my gym clothes on. The morning was going smoothly - the kitchen was clean, and fresh laundry was in the dryer. I was right on schedule.
But then, Baby E started yawning, and it became clear I wasn't going to make it to the gym. So I called and cancelled the appointment.
No matter. I knew he would sleep after I dropped Lil' C off at preschool, and I could log some miles on the treadmill anyway.
As soon as he was down for his nap, I went straight downstairs and put on my running shoes - no stopping in the kitchen, the laundry room, or at my computer. I got on and started running. I could feel the flab melting away.
And then, there was my alarm - the cries erupting from the baby monitor. He had only slept ten minutes. I bolted upstairs to try and lull him back to sleep. He wasn't having it. Frustrated, I went back downstairs anyway, and resumed my workout.
I knew Baby E was safe in his crib, and I could still hear his faint cries. I cut my run way short, by at least twenty minutes, but at least I did it.
I've been so frustrated lately with my lack of time to devote to exercise, especially with spring looming around the corner. But what I need to remember is that at least I'm doing it. I may not be working out everyday or for as long as I want, but at least I'm doing something. That's going to have to be okay for now.
I may not like it, but I can't beat myself up about it.
Did you hear that, scale? I'm doing it. It doesn't matter where or when or for how long. I'm doing something.
So shut up and leave me alone.
How do you find time to exercise or go to the gym?