“Did this thing shrink?” I think to myself, while stuffing the relevant bits and pieces into my sports bra. I had resolved to drop a few excess pounds after the holidays, and putting on workout clothes was half the battle.
“Now I have to exercise today,” I mumble before trudging to the kitchen for coffee.
After driving the kids to school in our dirty white minivan, I head home, fully intending to jog directly to the base gym and lift weights. Pulling into my driveway, I notice how messy the interior of the van is. With a loud “tsk” I decide that it is imperative for me to Shop Vac the van before my run.
There’s something about a Shop Vacs, leaf blowers and a power washers. Once I get one going, I can’t seem to put the thing down. It’s exhilarating to cleanse one’s life of debris and clutter, and I never seem to want that feeling to end.
Two hours later, I had not only vacuumed the van, but I had also sucked the cobwebs out of the garage, the sand off the screened porch, the dog hair off the living room floor, the peanuts from under the couch cushions, and the crumbs out of the utensil drawers.
I breathe a huge sigh of cleansed relief, and then notice the time. “Criminy!” I blurt, “I need to get on that jog!” I decide to save the weight lifting for tomorrow, and just get the run in. That is, right after I hit the bathroom.
My middle-aged bladder is no longer cooperating. I was always one of those girls who could “hold it” forever like some kind of sub-Saharan camel. But once I hit age 40, my bladder got fed up and took my urethra hostage. Essentially, when the urge strikes, I’d better hit the porcelain throne within a minute or two, or my bladder will open the release valve on my own little Hoover Dam.
While doing my business, I notice an interesting article on space exploration in the latest National Geographic …
With a resounding flush, I emerge from the bathroom with an empty bladder and a brain full of newfound information on space exploration, scatology, airborne microbes, and Ecuadorian parakeets. “Fascinating…” I mutter while tying up the string on my workout pants.
The clock dictates that it’s on the early side of lunchtime. I can’t go on a run with an empty stomach, of course. Ever a multi-tasker, I eat lunch while checking e-mails on our computer.
Computers can be evil. Just like I can’t just buy just one thing at Target, I find it nearly impossible to just “check e-mail” on our computer. Somehow, tabs get opened, links get clicked, and next thing you know, I’ve told someone what I ate for lunch on Facebook, bid on a set of vintage Pyrex nesting bowls on Ebay, and watched three You Tube videos of babies laughing at stuff.
Suddenly, my watch alarm sounds, signaling that it’s time for me to get back in the minivan to pick the kids up from school. “Well, darn it,” I say, “I guess I’ll just have to power walk later this afternoon.”
Back home a couple hours later, I’m ready for that walk, but decide I’d better fluff and fold the laundry real quick so my husband’s uniforms won’t wrinkle. Since folding laundry is about as entertaining as watching paint dry, I turn the TV on for a little background noise.
I must say, those shows about hoarders are riveting. It’s like a train wreck – it’s awful and tragic, but you can’t stop watching.
An hour later, I try to go on my walk, but I have to defrost the pork chops, I have to take Lilly to her tennis lesson, I have to load the dishwasher, I have to scratch the dog’s belly, I have to watch that new episode of “Modern Family”.
At 10 pm, my husband wakes me on the couch to follow him to our bed. My workout clothes are quite cozy, so in a “Flashdance”-inspired move, I take off my sports bra, and climb right into bed.
“My workout clothes will already be on when I wake up in the morning,” I think to myself before dropping off to sleep, “so I’ll have to exercise tomorrow, for sure.”