Desperate Moments Call For Desperate Measures

I've had it. Enough is enough. My new motto is just say no - to chocolate/birthday-cake/pie/chips/and everything else I've been eating with reckless abandon. And to prove how serious I actually am, I would like to make an announcement:

I HAVE STARTED EXERCISING.

As in this morning. And it's for real this time, too - as opposed to all those other times I've threatened to begin a workout regimen, only to give it up after a week or two. You may doubt me, you may wonder why I think this time will be any different from the last several attempts, but I can assure you it is. I know. I can feel it.

Does this ever happen to anyone else? You go along stuffing your face, laying around, taking a long bath, sleeping in, reading a book, or blogging with those few precious moments of personal time you get everyday. Meanwhile, you feel your muscles atrophying, your clothes get a little tighter, and you move from your cute, I-can-wear-everything-in-my-closet wardrobe, to the irritating, and much more limited I-can-only-wear-these-few-items-strategically-put-together-in-certain-ways-to-hide-the-fat-around-the-middle-that's-been-accumulating-since-Christmas wardrobe.

It's so irritating.

And if those of you who know me are tempted to leave a comment saying how I don't look any different to you, you're forgetting one important detail:

I'M ONLY WEARING A FEW ITEMS STRATEGICALLY PUT TOGETHER TO HIDE THE EXCESS FAT AROUND THE MIDDLE THAT HAS BEEN ACCUMULATING SINCE CHRISTMAS!!!!

And you want to hear the sad part? A couple more pounds and I won't be able to hide it. My secret will be out, everyone will know.

So, back to how I know this time is different. Once I go through all of the above, (and once I realize just how close swimsuit season actually is), I start having thoughts. These thoughts remind me of the time in fourth grade when my friend Miriam and jumped on my bed while eating out of a box of Grapenuts. Have you ever had Grapenuts in your bed? It's very uncomfortable. Like my thoughts. Thoughts like, "So what if I never do get back into those clothes?" and "If I never work out ever again, will I still be able to make it up the stairs when I'm fifty?" and "Just how far down my leg can my buttocks fall?"

These thoughts make me feel squirmy. They bother me. Apparently, they drive me straight toward the drawer where I keep my amazing library of workout tapes. (And yes, I said tapes. As in VHS. There are several DVD's in there as well, but somehow in my moments of desperation it always goes back to the tapes).

At first, I only think about it. I start thinking about how good it actually feels to have leg muscles. And about how nice it would be to get my backside back up where it belongs.

Then I start thinking about how I really don't like the answers to any of those Grape-nuts-in-the-bed questions, and I take a few pathetic stabs at working out. You know, the ones where you aren't really working out, but you kind of hope it will be enough anyway? But it isn't, so it doesn't work, and you give up a week or two later feeling discouraged?

Then something like Easter comes around, and I'm slapped in the face by my complete and total lack of control. Seriously. It didn't help that L and N both had birthday parties, and after L's I sat down and ate an entire bag of Doritos. And that was after the cake, the pizza, and the bowl of BBQ potato chips. I can't even talk about Easter - or that bag of Reese's PBCups I bought for "the kids".

And so it's begun. The official I'm-excited-to-work-out-and-feel-immediately-panicky-if-I-don't feeling has arrived. And it comes with an important little perk I always forget about - I'm just lazy enough that I can't stand to eat junk after sweating and suffering along with some over-zealous work out Diva.

I ACTUALLY PASSED UP M'S FORGOTTEN CHOCOLATE EASTER BUNNY THIS MORNING! THIS IS HUGE!

And so I'm off. I'm back in control, I'm exercising, and I'm headed back to all those cute clothes hanging in my closet. Okay, I lied. I have no closet. Most of these clothes are strategically "draped" around my room. Sad, isn't it? But I'll be wearing them, and that's the important part.

The Jog/Walk Diaries - Doing the Shuffle

I just want to tell the world that I really have gone jog/walking. TWICE. I know, I know, you think I am amazing. I'm actually feeling a little that way myself, to tell you the truth. Who would have thought I'd be up for multiple bouts of self-torture? That's a bet I definitely would have lost.

And how has it been, you want to know? Will I continue? Can I still move after two maybe-it-was-a-mile jog/walks? I'm currently undecided on most of these issues, although just thinking about how far I've traveled down the road of complete muscle deterioration and loss of cardio stamina, makes me think my nighttime forays will probably continue.

And yes, I have been waiting for the cover of darkness before jog/walking. You see, it's not like I'm just jog/walking. This fitness undertaking (no pun on the whole death and dying thing intended) revolves around basketball, and my getting in decent enough shape to handle a game of horse. This being the case, I have incorporated sprints and defensive stance/slides into my jog/walking routine. This is not a joke. I would die if I were seen.

Can you imagine watching some chick jog/walking nonchalantly along, thinking she's a completely normal person, when suddenly she drops into a defensive stance and does these moronic looking shuffles from one side of the lonely country road to the other? Or stays in place doing defensive shuffles facing front-2,3,4, right-2,3,4, left-2,3,4, etc.? There's no way I'm jog/walking in daylight hours. I mean, really, I'm the first to admit I can be a bit dorky, but I do have some pride.

And it is a bit boring. And I'm definitely sore. Not like volleyball-daily-double-sore, or anything, but I am feeling the effects of jog/walk/defensive-shuffling.

There are some encouraging aspects as well. Like the fact that I made my almost-mile in twenty-seven minutes on the first go. (Are you seeing how pathetic it is now?? This was encouraging... So sad). And last night? Which I might have skipped if it hadn't been for the incredibly guilt-inducing oreos my darling husband brought home? Hold onto your hats, I took three minutes off my time! What is it people say when excited? Whoot? Well that's how I felt - Whootish. And very, very, tired.

So next time you're feeling down, picture me defensive-shuffling my way down the road like a complete idiot. I guarantee you'll crack a smile. True, it will be at my expense, but hey - what are friends/blogging buddies for?

Disillusionment and Desperation

I am so incredibly out of shape. No, really, this is serious. It's so serious that I'm considering taking up jogging - tonight. Anyone who really knows me, knows just how serious this would have to be for me to even CONSIDER such a rash and reckless step.

I have never liked "jogging" as a form of exercise. I love to play sports with a purpose, but running???? Just to run??? Yuck. Humiliation. My um, "girls" bouncing all over the place for passersby to observe.

This last is what originally turned me off from any sport requiring solo running, i.e. softball, cross country, and track. I was rather well endowed when I was in high school (thankfully, I consider myself normal after the four children), and any running event (or non-running event if we're going to be totally candid) got my assets WAY too much attention from the hormone beast also known as the "high school boy". A t-shirt that said "Hellooo, we aren't her eyes" would have been helpful.

Anyhow, back to running. Or not running, which is where I think I actually was. When I was in college, one of my roomates convinced me that running would be fun. I went right out and purchased a pair of running shoes. I was determined to finally get over my issues and give this popular form of exercise a chance.

Just to be safe, however, I always ran at night.

And I hated every minute of it.

Nothing but me, the darkness, and that stupid bush/tree/whatever I was attempting to run to before I started walking again. Can I just say BORING!! Nothing to think about but how long I'd been jogging, and how much further I should force myself to go. The worst thing? Back then I was actually in pretty decent shape. Puffing and wheezing were not my problem. Aching, burning legs that shake when you stop? Nope, the mental game alone was enough to make me tired.

And now I'm considering giving it another try.

And I'm adding in the puffing/wheezing/burning legs, because they will definitely play a MAJOR roll this time around. Which brings me to the catalyst for this desperate move. Tonight I played a very small, harmless, never-moved-beyond-the-three-point-line, game of basketball. One on one. Kelly, this was nothing to your full-court experience. This can only be classed as Truly Pathetic.

Unlike jogging, I love to play basketball. There's no boredom in basketball. (And there's way too much going on for the "girls" to be the center of attention). Tonight, however, was worse than pathetic.

There's me, barely moving around the court, sensing from the start that I must conserve every ounce of energy to finish the game. We were playing to seven.

There's my opponent, young, strong, over six feet tall, and fresh off the Marine Corp base where he takes daily runs in the desert in full gear with a thirty lb pack on his back.

You may be asking yourself why a burned out mother of four would take on such an opponent. I have no answer for you. Insanity? Derangement? COMPLETE disillusionment? That one was obviously a big player. Back when he was in high school, and I wasn't quite so far from my prime, we used to have these little games all the time. That was when running from the baseline to the three point line didn't feel like a long distant sprint.

So now, here I am, facing the cold hard truth. I may occasionally exercise. I may even use weights now and then. I may like to think that I'm in decent shape, and that I can "keep up" if I have to. Newsflash: I couldn't keep up with an old guy in a nursing home. If I ever want to play a decent game of basketball again, I need to do something desperate. Jogging is desperate. So that's what I'm going to do. I start tonight when the boys and Rusty get back from fishing. I should feel right at home, because it will be dark. My only concern will be making it back before suffering from cardiac arrest.

The good news? I will be so amazingly in shape when Dallin returns, that I will fearlessly challenge him to a rematch. Watch out Dallin, this is one mom who refuses to sit by while all her muscles atrophy into jello. When you get back, I will be ready for you. (But you still can't stuff my shots unless I stuff yours. After all, I'm not totally delusional.)