I came downstairs yesterday morning and realized I should do my "exercises" before I ate breakfast. Yes, I just put the word exercise in quotes because, let's be honest, what I'm doing at this point cannot qualify as real exercise. But I'm moving, and as small of a movement as this is, I wold normally still blow it off, so I'm just glad I am making it a habit. Anywho, I looked up day 2's requirement on the list: 35 jumping jacks and 15 crunches.
On Monday, day 1, I "exercised" between breakfast and lunch, after showering and dressing, so I had a bra on. Yesterday morning under my PJs I had on....how can I describe it, because it cannot be considered a bra. A bra must have support, lift. The thing I wear to bed is kinda sorta shaped like a bra, but it's a pull over and barely maintaining any elasticity. What do you call something when it's purpose is, basically, just to sit between my boobs and my stomach? Cuz that's what I wear to bed each night. It's basically a layer of material that allows me to avoid the sticky, sweatiness of having my boobs sit on my upper stomach. I wonder if it falls more in the "bro" or "manssiere" category (Seinfeld reference. If you don't know what it means, most likely you're too young to be a fan of the show. Go watch "The Doorman" episode from season 6. Trust me, my use of the words "bro" and "massiere" will not only mean something to you after watching the episode, but it will also make you laugh. And, you'll be able to throw it out at the appropriate moment in a conversation with older people and get a great laugh from us. Now, back to my garment...) See, moobs (man boobs) are not muscular nor perky. They are flabby and sit on the upper stomach. So, yeah, I had on my "bro" yesterday morning. (Kramer and Mr. Costanza argue throughout the episode about the name - bro or manssiere. I actually prefer the manssiere, but since bro is shorter to type, I'm going with that. I'm giggling at the keyboard thinking of that episode. Please go watch it if you haven't already. It will make your life better. You can pull the memory out when you are stuck in traffic or up all night with a sick child and it will make you smile.) So, I debated going back upstairs and putting on a real bra or, better yet, a sports bra because I know my bro will not contain the girls when I start jumping those jacks. But I didn't. Cuz I'm lazy. And I paid for that laziness. I walked out to the living room, stood with my feet together and hands by my side. 35 jumping jacks. How hard could it be? We can do this, girls; we've been through worse. Right? WRONG.
I jumped up in the air, my legs parted, my arms went out and over my head. My body reached the pinnacle of it's ascent and started back towards the ground. The girls, however, did not. "A body in motion stays in motion." Remember learning that in physics? The girls, do. And the bigger or heavier an object is, is takes more force to stop it or reverse its direction. It was like that moment when the roller coaster goes over the top of that first hill and you experience weightlessness. My girls were in Heaven. Like your average 8 month pregnant woman is when she gets in a pool. My girls were shooting for the stars. They could taste freedom; it was within their grasp. But then my feet hit the ground and my girls can only stretch so far. Like the yank behind Harry Potter's bellybutton going through a port key, the girls were wrenched back from "the light" and slammed against my chest with the force of The Hulk jumping off the top of a high-rise. The force was so great, it literally knocked the wind out of my lungs. "HUH!" They hit so hard the air in my lungs actually flew out on that guttural sound. Every. Single. Time. I landed. By jumping jack #7, B came running into the room. "Are you OK, Mom?!" The look on his face went from concern to alarm to WTF and then pure, boy fascination at what my boobs were doing. As humiliated as I was, and in as much pain as I was, I knew if I stopped before I reached 35, I'd never start again. "I'm HUH! fine. HUH! Go HUH! back HUH! to HUH! watch HUH! ing HUH! your HUH! show. HUH!"
Shear force of I-am-woman-hear-me-roar will made me finish the 35 jumping jacks and then immediately do the 15 crunches before I could stop and think. Or cry. When I was done with the crunches, I just lay there on the floor with one arm flung over my eyes. Cursing my laziness. Why didn't I just go up and change my damn bro?! Then I started laughing. Someone once told me, "What are you gonna do? It's laugh or cry." And I cry enough at movies and commercials and books.
Living on a prayer with love, laughter, faith and food.
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exercise. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
I Gotta Get Movin'
The last time I was this heavy, I was pregnant with B. I have got to start moving, exercising, in order to stop gaining and then start losing. I found The Starter's Exercise Plan on Pinterest, so I started it today. Day 1 wasn't bad at all: 30 jumping jacks and 10 crunches. I need to start somewhere, and starting with something that's easy gave me a sense of accomplishment and the motivation to do it again tomorrow. It's a start!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Kickboxing Class
The karate studio where I work has kickboxing class for adults twice a week and, as an employee, I can go for free. I have been thinking about going for quite some time, since I keep getting bigger and bigger, but I haven’t done it. I was afraid to go. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of what the other people in the class would think of me, afraid that I would not be able to keep up, afraid that any exercise whatsoever would make me barf in public, afraid of not having any appropriate clothes that fit me to wear…you name it, I tortured myself with it and just sat at home.
Thankfully, a friend and co-worker of mine started going to the class with her husband last month. I kept saying that I would show up at class one night since I actually knew someone there, but I never did. Finally, last week, I got up the nerve to tell my friend that I needed her to drag me to that class. And, being the great friend that she is, she complied. She was willing to be the “bad guy” for me b/c she understood that I needed that to get over the initial hurdle.
Last night was the class that she was going to drag me to. And of course, all day long, I did not feel well. I wanted to tell her that I could not go b/c I was not feeling well, but I had a “coming to Jesus” talk with myself. I am so good at having those talks with other people, you know? I can fix everybody’s problems but my own! Anywho, I had that talk with myself and realized that every single time I decided I was going to start an exercise routine that day, I ended up not feeling well. I mysteriously got my period, or I had an upset stomach and had to stay near the bathroom or I ate nothing but beans and broccoli the 24 hours before and could not be around others for gaseous reasons, etc. It was always SOMETHING. But I was NOT going to allow myself to make another excuse. I was GOING to this class, even if I barfed or farted all over the place!
And you know what? I had a great time! I am SO GLAD they drove over to my house and took me to the class. I am proud of myself for exercising and everyone can use a little extra pride in themselves, don’t you think? I did not have gloves and the bin of extra gloves was empty from other attendees in the class. Pshaw, I thought. I’m not going to need gloves on the 1st class anyway. I am so out of shape, I could not hit that bag with any amount of strength requiring gloves anyway, right?
We started out doing a “warm-up”. MY idea of warming up is long stretches, walking in place, stepping side-to-side, maybe some lunges… The teacher’s idea of warming-up was jumping jacks. OK, I told myself, you can do this. How many could we do in a warm-up? 25? He did not count; he timed. As many as you could do in 1 minute increments, and there was more than one, 1 minute increment, people! My boobs were jumping, my backfat was jumping, but, worst of all, my incontinence-due-to-vaginal-birth was saying, “What the HELL are you doing? I’m about to make a mess up in here! You know the deal – no trampolines, no bed jumping and NO jumping jacks.” I don’t know how I hung on, but I jumped jacks while kegelling the heck out of my insides. I actually made it to 100 jumping jacks before I had to run off into the bathroom. Once again, proud of me! Never thought I could do 1 jumping jack, let alone 100. I want my 8th Grade Presidential Fitness Award renewed. ;o)
My friend and I shared a bag for our punches and kicks. After a few rounds of jabs, hooks and uppercuts, I had bleeding knuckles on both hands. I was HOOKED! The sight and smell of blood was like adrenaline to me, for some reason. I felt so badass, so capable! At one point, we were to take turns punching and kicking the bags with our partners, and the one who was not hitting the bag was to yell encouragement at the one hitting the bag. She and I were cracking up over this. She yelled at me once, “Come on! Take your frustration out on that bag! I know you’re picturing your husband!” I immediately thought, I’m not frustrated at him for anything. Then something hit me and I became a driven women. I ATTACKED that bag! I yelled to my partner, “I’m fighting off the hubs to keep him from changing the temperature on the thermostat at home!” We had a good laugh over that one.
That was all I really needed – to get over the 1st hurdle of just going. Even at my age, it’s hard to reach out and ask for help. But I’m so glad I did!
Thankfully, a friend and co-worker of mine started going to the class with her husband last month. I kept saying that I would show up at class one night since I actually knew someone there, but I never did. Finally, last week, I got up the nerve to tell my friend that I needed her to drag me to that class. And, being the great friend that she is, she complied. She was willing to be the “bad guy” for me b/c she understood that I needed that to get over the initial hurdle.
Last night was the class that she was going to drag me to. And of course, all day long, I did not feel well. I wanted to tell her that I could not go b/c I was not feeling well, but I had a “coming to Jesus” talk with myself. I am so good at having those talks with other people, you know? I can fix everybody’s problems but my own! Anywho, I had that talk with myself and realized that every single time I decided I was going to start an exercise routine that day, I ended up not feeling well. I mysteriously got my period, or I had an upset stomach and had to stay near the bathroom or I ate nothing but beans and broccoli the 24 hours before and could not be around others for gaseous reasons, etc. It was always SOMETHING. But I was NOT going to allow myself to make another excuse. I was GOING to this class, even if I barfed or farted all over the place!
And you know what? I had a great time! I am SO GLAD they drove over to my house and took me to the class. I am proud of myself for exercising and everyone can use a little extra pride in themselves, don’t you think? I did not have gloves and the bin of extra gloves was empty from other attendees in the class. Pshaw, I thought. I’m not going to need gloves on the 1st class anyway. I am so out of shape, I could not hit that bag with any amount of strength requiring gloves anyway, right?
We started out doing a “warm-up”. MY idea of warming up is long stretches, walking in place, stepping side-to-side, maybe some lunges… The teacher’s idea of warming-up was jumping jacks. OK, I told myself, you can do this. How many could we do in a warm-up? 25? He did not count; he timed. As many as you could do in 1 minute increments, and there was more than one, 1 minute increment, people! My boobs were jumping, my backfat was jumping, but, worst of all, my incontinence-due-to-vaginal-birth was saying, “What the HELL are you doing? I’m about to make a mess up in here! You know the deal – no trampolines, no bed jumping and NO jumping jacks.” I don’t know how I hung on, but I jumped jacks while kegelling the heck out of my insides. I actually made it to 100 jumping jacks before I had to run off into the bathroom. Once again, proud of me! Never thought I could do 1 jumping jack, let alone 100. I want my 8th Grade Presidential Fitness Award renewed. ;o)
My friend and I shared a bag for our punches and kicks. After a few rounds of jabs, hooks and uppercuts, I had bleeding knuckles on both hands. I was HOOKED! The sight and smell of blood was like adrenaline to me, for some reason. I felt so badass, so capable! At one point, we were to take turns punching and kicking the bags with our partners, and the one who was not hitting the bag was to yell encouragement at the one hitting the bag. She and I were cracking up over this. She yelled at me once, “Come on! Take your frustration out on that bag! I know you’re picturing your husband!” I immediately thought, I’m not frustrated at him for anything. Then something hit me and I became a driven women. I ATTACKED that bag! I yelled to my partner, “I’m fighting off the hubs to keep him from changing the temperature on the thermostat at home!” We had a good laugh over that one.
That was all I really needed – to get over the 1st hurdle of just going. Even at my age, it’s hard to reach out and ask for help. But I’m so glad I did!
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