The Workout Queen Made Me Do It

Working out. Auugghhh...  I remember when those words meant...dare I say it...fun.  F.U.N. Yes, I once thought working out was that little "f" word.  I must have been delusional...the grueling pain that you push your body to endure, only to limp around in agony the entire next two days. 

Why?  Well, I'll tell you why.  Husband.  Baby Body X 2.  German Genes.  Blue Jeans.  Nothing against them too much these days, but... Love. Handles. 

Thankfully, I have a Workout Queen living with me, who just happens to be my exercise science college grad, dietetics 2nd degree-seeking sister.  (Who might I add is moving out in a week or so, Y.I.K.E.S.  I don't know what I am going to do without her.... And the boys love their Aunt LaLa.)

She forces me to put myself through the excruciating task of going to the gym.  And not just any gym, I torment myself by going to the wellness center of the university I work at.  I just realized today that I keep getting older, and the students keep getting younger. It is not a pretty sight looking from them in little tankinis flaunting around in tiny, tiny shorts to me in my oversized t-shirt and sporting some baggy eyelids. 

I'm trying not to think about it, but the 7 year-old that I used to babysit as a freshman in college is now the freshman in college!  Yowzah!  That hurts.

Back to the motivation to endure this pain.  Where did the motivation to workout go from high school and even college?  I'll tell you where. Let’s just run down the typical day here…

Wake up. Take Shower. Close shower door 15 times while trying to bribe the four year-old to go get dressed. Help the four year-old get dressed.  Get dressed. Wake up 19 month-old. Get him dressed. Feed four year-old breakfast.  Get everyone in the car.  Smell a very well known fragrance.  Get 19 month-old out of the car. Change diaper.  Four year-old has followed.  Get everyone in the car. Border collie has jumped the brick wall that is called a fence (you know to keep animals, kids, etc. in the back yard!). Get the border collie inside.  Drop 19 month old off at daycare.  Drop 4 year-old off at big school. Go to work for 8 hours.  Pick up 4 year-old and 19 month-old from daycare.  Drive home.  Go inside the house. Answer 10,000 questions from the four year-old with no or yes responses to why he can or can't play outside, watch TV, jump over his brother, use him as a bowling pin, throw a baseball in the house... Drag the 19 month-old on my leg all around the house...crying, because his internal clock is impeccable and 6 o'clock means dinner time.  Attempt to cook dinner, still with the 19 month-old clinging to my leg.  Pick up cup, silverware, plate, food off the floor 10,000 times during dinner.  Get everyone in the bathtub.  Get 19 month-old in PJs, bedtime story, bed.  Get 4 year-old in PJs, bedtime stories, bed.  4 year-old out of bed, potty, back in bed 10+ times.  Clean up after dinner.  Pick up toys throughout house.  Do a load of laundry.

 OH!  And go workout... Riiiight.  This is why I am so eager and have so much energy to go torture myself for an hour.

There has to be a better way to keep the fun lovin' German genes from stacking up the stuffing on my posterior corridor.  But until I find that answer, I guess all I have to say is "Bring it.” The treadmill, insanity, weights and all!