I agree and I disagree with Jeff’s comment on the last post.
I disagree in that I do not see exercise as a chore. (For those of you in Wisconsin, that means I disagree with him because he implies I think exercise is a chore). I agree in that I think getting to or getting time away to do the exercise is the chore. Once I win that battle, I’m there and I love it. Here’s what I mean:
1. Premise: It’s 5 degrees outside this morning. What That Means: Three kids need to get coats on, tennis shoes on and get bathroom needs taken care of. Just to get out the door.
2. Premise: The gym is ten minutes away. What That Means: Three kids getting out to the car. In the car. In seats. “Mom! She hit me!” “Mom, what does ‘heritage’ mean?” “MOM! I want to play on Nintendo!”
3. Premise: Husband and myself both have to get ready as well. What That Means: Two trips into the house for forgotten keys. One yelling from me about WHERE are my stupid earphones? One trip by husband to get his forgotten water bottle.
4. Premise: Saturday mornings are crazy busy at the gym. What That Means: Getting three kids checked into the childcare (they can go play games in the big gym while we workout). This takes five minutes of waiting in line to check-in, three times of me spelling my 9 year old’s name for the lady, a sign-in sheet, a behavior reminder to SuperBoy and removal of coats and hats and hand sanitizer application.
5. Premise: My first machine of the day was the elliptical. What That Means: This faces out over a second floor ‘balcony.’ From the elliptical you can see a floor to ceiling window which looks into the big gym. Remember who’s in the big gym? Right, the kids. So, as I’m working out, I can clearly see SuperBoy standing against the window (because he can view the tv that’s across the lobby that’s playing cartoons.). Now, he’s not just standing there, folks. He’s smooshing his face up against the window. He’s sliding down the glass to the floor into a “faint,” he’s chewing on the end of the pool noodle they’ve given the kids to play with. I’m not lying, I looked around to see if anyone else was watching this boy and tried to put a look on my face that clearly said, “Who is that boy and where is his mother??”So embarrassing. I moved over to the treadmill and tried to forget about SuperBoy’s smooshed face.
So there. I’m not complaining about the kids and the fact that I’m a mother. It does add some extra steps to the process, however, which, on certain days, I just don’t have the energy to overcome.
But I do love it, Coach. So there.