I just last week decided that I simply had to find a way to get to the gym. I kind of hate that whole sentence because it sounds like some horrid thing my brain contains where remarkably fit blonde women slough their kids off onto the “help” so that they can go to the gym.
But the fact is that I need to go do something. Either I needed to invest in some kind of indoor equipment (and my company reimburses only services, to a very small amount) or I was going to continue to lose ground fitness wise and I just don’t have much more ground to lose at this point. I’ve ballooned a bit since starting to commute and not run around Noah all day, and I was not exactly a poster child for fitness prior to that. Despite taking the stairs as much as possible, etc.
(I may consider a bike in better weather. I could maybe bike to the subway. Maybe.)
For me working out does a few things. One, if it’s weight bearing, it helps in the battle against osteoporosis. Since my mother scored in the worst percentile for bone density before menopause, and has broken bones in her foot simply by walking too hard, and has been the object of study, osteoporosis is not a joke in my family. Second, regular exercise keeps me off anti-depressants. Third, I am 36 years old and not a young parent, so I would like to stay clear of as many diseases as I can as I age, so I am aiming to lower my risk where I can and guess what? Diabetes, stroke, heart disease, even some cancers – all linked to weight and fitness. Hmmm.
(Does this keep me away from the cookies? Not a lot.)
So anyway, that all is my justification. The other thing is that I know a lot of people don’t like gyms or working out. But I like gyms and I like having worked out, at least. So it is kind of like adding a treat in. A treat that does not come from takeout, I might add.
Even so, it was kind of hard to do. Most of my workouts have been on the days I have worked from home (as today’s will be) because I can turn the commuting time into gym time. On Sunday though, I left Carl and Noah and went to the gym. That felt really shitty, as I was giving up two hours of time with Noah. What I need to do is to go after Noah’s in bed (the gym is 10 min away by car – irony there again to look at in the spring – and open ’til midnight, but most nights inertia really takes over).
BUT I was still so glad to do it. Although I am out of shape and ok, a little on the fat side – I am always on the fat side but on the fat side of my fat side – I felt my strength. I felt like I knew what to do and how to do it. Yes, I am starting over again in some ways, but I felt my body move as I wanted it to and I felt the motions coming back. I felt the grips of the machines (I am a wimp about free weights) in my hands. I felt the sweat drip down my back. And it was good.
I was never that athletic as a teen or even young woman (a little bit at camp and in the pool, but I did poorly in gym class and wasn’t on any teams, etc.) It was only in my late 20s that I even considered joining a gym (Teresa did, technically). It was one of those decisions that you make or don’t make every day. I’m no model for consistency or efficiency. But darned if that decision hasn’t brought me a whole pile of peace and enjoyment over the years. And is again, for however long I maintain it.
I am so glad for the health I have and the resources to try to maintain it.
