Call to Arms

Letter to My Trainer:

I spent months planning this moment. Notebooks full of visulaizations: me running the mini marathon, family and kids cheering me through the finish line. My 10 year high school reunion, sexy black dress and heels. I've been waiting so long to MOVE, now that I've gotten a taste of my potential, I am addicted.

I will work. This is no longer about looking good, its about being good and healthy for my kids and participating in a physical way in their daily lives I am not able to do quite right now. Its about living pain free, chasing children and rolling around on the floor, diaper change squats, a 15lbs, 20lbs, or 29lbs medicine ball in my arms at all times. A look down in their eyes gives me all the motivation I need. I will do anything in the name of the love I feel for them.

Walking like a 1 man army, this is my Call to Arms. Stand beside me. Push me when I need pushing. Pull me out of the quicksand of despair that threatens right under the surface to suck me back into a life of bad habits and misery. Cheer me on at the finish line, walk beside me in the sun, push ups in the rain.

I've always been good at preparation, but good at rolling with whatever too. I never foresaw an addiction to Bootcamp in all my dreaming, planning, and preparations. But it appeared in my life at the exact right time.

If success= 50% preparation + 50% execution, preptime is over. The time has come to execute.

Hazards of baby living



I know my place is a constant hazard, floor forever covered in matchbox cars, toy pieces, and discarded laundry waiting to be picke dup in the next laundry sweep. I feel I constatly live a real life version of Final Destination where doom looms around every corner. Last week my cousin tripped over a Sit 'n Spin and fell holding a baby. This weekend I- no lie- slipped in a puddle of spit-up I didn't know was there and pulled a muscle in my back. I spent the remainder of the weekend in a muscle relaxer stupor laying flat on my back oblivious to the crying babies tag teaming my husband. That shit hurt! Not to mention the unpleasant flashback it brings up of being on bedrest. What a helpless feeling. Then my husbands brings me homemade strawberry banana pancakes in bed and a fresh ice pack and I think, "If I weren't in pain, this wouldn't be half bad!'