October 2, 2012
(She said offhandedly. Like it's not the worst thing she could imagine to do with her time. Running? Blech.)
Some nights (or afternoons) I eat an entire wheel of Brie. Or three bowls of popcorn. Or a quarter of an apple pie.
Some nights, I replace the "or" with "and".
I'm also pretty sure we're done having kids, so the past four years of being either pregnant (so not worried) or breastfeeding (so not worried) are soon to be a thing of the distant past, and I will have to stop wearing pants.
And then there's the sad fact that my twice daily walks to school involve all three of my children (two ambulating; one perambulating), and while Norah's eagerness to get to school or away from school can be depended on for a fairly brisk pace on one leg of each trip, the other leg is all Oscar. Which can best be described by asking you to close your eyes and imagine a blue-eyed,blond hobbit stumping along the sidewalk with no promise of a second breakfast. Coming to a full stop to put his hand in his pocket, or watch a car go by, or pick up a stick and "sword" me with it.
Sometimes he even goes backwards.
Delightful? Yes. Exercise? No.
But - let's be honest - none of these things are the reason that I've started exercising at the Y. I started because we joined in April, and we've paid one hundred dollars a month since then for some swimming lessons and a couple of visits to the pool for fun.
I have to get my money's worth.