We recently joined a new gym that is open, I kid you not, 24 hours. They also have free child care, free drop in classes and personal tvs on every exercise bike. Basically, my excuses for not working out just got pretty sparse.
Hubby has been working out every morning before work. I am super proud of his dedication. Me on the other hand? I’ve gone three times now in the past two weeks with big plans to go tomorrow. I suppose that’s three (soon to be four) more times than I’ve gone to a gym in the past year or more, but still. The baby steps seem pathetic in comparison to Dan the Man.
What isn’t helping? Is that every time I’ve gone, I’ve been dealing with killer shin splints. Just walking the track around the perimeter of the gym is painful after a few minutes. Trying to run is a no go. The machines and I are not getting along at the moment because I am not good at pacing my workouts on an exercise bike and I’m wondering if that first day on the machines is the cause of my trouble or if I’m just pathetic.
Add this to the knee injury which is just starting to go away but that kept me from kicking up my exercise habits for the past year or so. And all the times I hurt myself trying different workout games on the wii. Basically, it seems like every time I exercise, I hurt myself. When did I become an old falling aparty person?
Yesterday I was working on the photo calendar for next year because I’m Uber Planny Mom and like to worry about things months in advance of them being relevant. I picked out a cute picture of MM to put in the square for his birthday and then typed the words “[MM]’s 8th birthday.” Then I’m pretty sure I had the world’s tiniest panic attack. Not really a panic attack so much as a staring at my computer screen all mouth gapey and trying to work out how the math was a lie. Because I don’t think this should be humanly possible.
I’m pretty sure that a few months ago I was an irresponsible college kid who sometimes skipped class to watch Dawson’s Creek marathons on tv. A few months before that I was obsessively reading every Babysitters Club book I could get my hands on instead of playing outside like a normal child and minutes before that I was wearing a super pretty red and black striped dress and getting ready for my first day of school. So having an eight year old next year is clearly mathematically impossible.
Next fall my baby will start kindergarten. I don’t tend to get teary eyed about these milestones. I like to think I allow myself to age gracefully. To acknowledge my gray hairs with pride and to do a mental happy dance when considering the lack of babies in my life. But eight years old? Both children at school? I think 2014 might just rock me to my core.
I’m not sure how all of that is about my inability to exercise without hurting myself except to say that it appears I might be getting old and I’m not sure when it happened. I know that I left my twenties behind a few months ago but it’s all just starting to kick in lately.
My name is Jennifer and apparently I’m an adult. I have a bad knee and appear to be prone to shin splints. I have no babies unless you count the puppy. Strollers have become almost useless in my life. My gray hair has started to make friends. I have a hard time staying up past 10pm and my favorite indulgence is having a second latte. I started wearing cardigans this year and my closet contains pretty much only sensible shoes. For my birthday, I would like a station wagon (but accept that I can’t afford one). You see, the writing is on the wall. Now excuse me while I go get something to clean that wall!