I worked out today. No, I am not a crazy, fit, super skinny workout diva who wears Luluemon and drinks pre-workouts while keeping my house clean. Not that there is anything wrong with being a super fit, Luluemon wearing, perfect food choice-making workout queen. I dream of that kind of discipline and thigh gap.
The truth is my yoga pants are from Costco and Sam’s Club, and my workout bra is so old Oprah was still on the air every day at 4 pm when I bought it. When I workout I look like a real full-on hot mess. I can’t maintain that cute bouncy ponytail, perfect mascara, and lip gloss, like those sexy fit moms at Soul Cycle. The reality is I have adult acne and I sweat like a disgusting pig. But I digress.
I worked out today with my 5 & 6-year-old boys. They rode their bikes back and forth to the end of the corner waiting for me to walk/run the mile around my neighborhood. After 3 weeks in quarantine, I had run out of pressing deadlines and excuses for not moving my body. I mean, at this point every doctor and self-help guru to be, was spouting the mental health dangers for not moving your body every day during this new normal. So last week I managed an entire night of sleep with no interruptions. I mean the husband didn’t snore, the kid didn’t have a nightmare and the other kid didn’t decide he was lonely and needed to lie directly on top of me in his sleep, and even the dog was peacefully tucked away somewhere far from my bed. It was bliss. At least until my husband’s Fitbit decided to spontaneously start working 2 months later by blaring it’s pre-pandemic 5 am alarm every 10 minutes. Unfreaking believable.
So 5 am. I was up I was out of bed and making coffee. 5:40 am I was alone. Blissfully, miraculously pre-Covid19 alone in my own living room. The perfect cup of coffee in one hand and the best book I’ve read since Eat Pray Love called me to travel through Italy alone in 2010, in the other.
I had peace. Looking back, I was still a little annoyed at the damn Fitbit. But at the same time, I felt so energized and ready to move mountains. At 7:00 am the sun was up. My boys were awake but decided to stay and play in their room for another 30 minutes and I was able to read and sip my perfect cup of black coffee in my favorite mug a little longer. And when it was time to get the kids ready for the day’s homeschool lesson I was ready, and they were in great moods, and the sun was up, and the sky was a perfect blue, and the breeze was reminiscent of a Hawaiian Winward breeze. And I wanted to be a part of the perfection. I wanted to run as I used to before my body started denying me my outlet. My path of peace. I told the boys to get dressed and we headed out, I ran less than half the time and walked way too much, but it felt great. The kids were sooo happy. And I was too.
So I made a quiet pact with myself. I would put on my shoes and get on the struggle bus to running again. Because I needed to. I had to. If I was going to make it through this new life I would have to reclaim some of the pieces of my best life. Spending quality time with my kids where I am not fussing, yelling, or shooting disapproving looks at them. Watching the joy and fun shine in their sweet brown faces. And the sun. Oh, the wonderful sun that says winter is over, and hope springs anew. So now we run. Or rather, I run and then walk and then run and walk some more, while the boys speed dangerously back and forth through the gravel and mud waiting for me to catch up so they can find the next super cool jump spot.
Today when I got up I was not feeling it. But my kids needed to move their bodies and I’m TRYING to do/be better/more. I was crap. I mean I should have just walked the whole way. I would have gotten a lot farther, faster. But that is not the point. The point is to try. So I ran when I could run and I walked when I thought I would die from doing things my over 40 body had given up on ever doing again.
It was not pretty but I could say I did it. And some days that’s all you can ask for.