So I have been really hard on myself lately. If you have read here for a bit you might be thinking that seems fairly in character, but this is different. Here on the blog generally I laugh while sharing failures with cooking, or stupid mistakes I make while trying to recreate some crafty thing. That is one thing, I can laugh at me there. It is a safe thing.
But there are other things that are harder to laugh about.
For example, I hate my body. Okay, hate is such a strong word. I don't hate my body.
My body has borne two children into this world, carried another two for a short time before they earned wings and went to heaven. My body takes me through my long day, half sleeping nights. It picks a kiddo up from school, facilitates homework, makes meals, cleans a house, plays with a baby, walks dogs, and does a million other things. It keeps this house sanitary (though not impecible), manages a million things at a time, and makes some of it look easy. While not the fittest body in the world, it is still hanging in there okay and my health is nothing I can complain about having had moments of much poorer health already in my life, and many more to come surely. My body is pretty amazing when I really think about all I ask it to endure, and how little I give it in return.
But I still have such a love hate relationship with it.
While I can DO all those things, there is stuff that my body can't do too. Like fit into the jeans I want.
In the scheme of things this whole jean fitting thing is pretty minimal. But it matters to me.
To my husband, my body is a John Mayer song. He is more than happy with me as I am, tells my I am beautiful, attractive and other stuff I'd just rather not share even on my semi anonymous blog.
But I know that even he'd be just fine with my body with a little less sag, flab and padding. He'd never say it, but we can be honest here.
So I have been wanting for a long long long time to get in to better shape. Not for anyone other than myself. Because I want to look in the mirror and be okay with the reflection rather than say stuff like "holy shit I have an extra chin in the works." I do not want to be a twig, I do not want to fit into my high school jeans, I do not have some burning desire to rock a bikini next summer ... those things may be nice and all but I have no desire for it. Well the bikini would kick ass, but that isn't my point.
My point is that I have been trying to exercise with any regularity and it really seems like fate is just content with my ass being this size rather than the one I want. Everything feels like it works against me. If wanting to lose weight, and sucking at it, were enough to have a rockin' bod I would be set.
Take yesterday for example.
After repeated failures at going for a jog or walk, after not being able to use any of the exercise equipment at my mom's house (a whole blog post in which I nearly set off her alarm and had the popo called on me), and many other failures too frustrating to even list I decided to enlist the help of the Wii Fit we bought forever ago.
And the fun really began.
First, I had to find the controller, and the little step-on-me thingy. Once found, I set them up, and tried to turn everything on. The batteries in the Wii controller had been pilfered for something else in requirement of a couple double A's.
So I did the only thing reasonable at that moment since I had no spares, I stole some from a kid toy -- seems fitting they contribute since I only started gaining weight because of them! -- and I was ready to go.
Or so I thought.
The batteries in the thingy you stand on were there, but dead as door nails. So the tally of stolen batteries is now up to six. Feeling like I have now waisted a massive and precious twenty minutes hunting batteries I got started and discovered that I have in fact gained 2.6 lbs since the last time I used this beast. Oh joy. By the time I was done taking my "tests" and updating from ages ago when we last drug this thing out of the corner, the Beans was aware I was doing something for me and promptly began screaming his adorable head off like he'd severed a limb.
If you count my mad dash back to his room, while envisioning the severe yet completely imagined trauma his shrieks implied, I probably burned a total of 27 calories.
Yeah, that is like licking a doughnut. Gargling a Dr. Pepper, then spitting it out. It certainly has no impact on !@#$ing jean size, hotness, flat tummies, or imagined bikinis.
So here I sit feeling very frustrated and dejected and needing to vent. Because I know when my husband comes home he will have some stupid-man-line ready like "oh you don't need to exercise" or "why don't you just get the Beans busy doing something and then work out if you really want to?" Well gee wiz Einstein, why did I not think of that?! Bleeding brilliant piece of goods, you are.
How do other mom's exercise? Gym isn't in the budget and my eating options are actually quite healthy an balanced. I just need something in my home, cheap, and fairly easy that I can do. If it is an exercise with your kids thing I don't know how to keep a very active and wanting to run one year old in place very long. He likes to run, but not long enough to make an impact on my waistline.
Any suggestions? Please?