This week, the almost unthinkable happened: I joined a gym.
As it is, there always seems to be a very legitimate reason not to workout at home, or even walk around the neighborhood. For one thing (particular to the whole walking thing), there are not sidewalks in our neighborhood. There’s one that goes part of the length up the major street in our subdivision, but you eventually have to go off on a side street and then it’s survival of the fittest. This whole “no sidewalk” thing makes zero sense to me, by the way, especially given the narrowness of the roads. Add two rambunctious kids and it’s hard for me to get motivated. Also, a certain someone has officially gotten too tall for a stroller, and our one and only walk this school year was a debacle. Strike two! Oh, and let’s one again point out the whole allergy/pest problem, where even the briefest forays out the door leave you covered in mosquito bites and in need of a pollen-removing shower. No thank you.
But…the reality is that I’m not getting any younger, or fitter — I suspect that the doctor may have removed vital portions of my core during my last C-section, because those muscles just do not work! — and a change had to come. Hence the gym. So far, I’ve managed to get to two classes this week, and survived them both. My goal for this week is at least three, or maybe I’ll get crazy and go for a swim. I haven’t swum a lap since I had kids, so the thought makes me a little giddy. The freedom! Will I even remember how? Who knows? All I know is that it only takes a few minutes to drive to the gym, and I was sure that alone would make it impossible. No time, you see. But I’m finding more and more little bits, and they’re adding up to a whole lot.
Wish me luck, friends. My track record to sticking with this sort of thing is not so good.