One foot at a time

A long time ago I was a runner.  I ran for fun during middle school and  high school.  When I was in high school, I got to school at 6:30 a.m. so I could get my run in before the school day started.  In college, late nights "studying" broke my habit.
I know exercise is important so about every six months I rearrange part of my schedule to fit in some exercise routines.  I always hope to make it a daily discipline, but haven't succeeded for a long term basis yet.  It's hard because my life is caring for others and I can't exactly say, "Kids, you guys take care of yourself while I go for a jog."  Adam would watch them, but by the time he gets home at night, I am fading fast.
Last Saturday I had some Kohl's cash and a couple of hours by myself so I went shopping and bought some new clothes.  I also bought workout clothes, but was disturbed that there weren't any workout clothes in the "women who are bigger than a toothpick" section.  I was able to score a pair of shorts that fit, but they aren't very generous in length.
So on Sunday morning I put on my tennis shoes and new workout clothes with a little bit of hope.  I ran 100 yards, maybe, but walked the rest of a mile.  Yesterday I might have run a quarter of a mile.  Today my shins are sore, but I'm going to keep plugging.
I've heard many people say that working out makes them feel so good.  I haven't gotten to that point that it makes me feel physically good.  However, it is a relief to have it checked off my list.  I have pride in knowing I took care of myself that day and I don't feel guilty for being overweight and sedentary.  I also immediately had more energy.
Today I woke up fully rested at 4 and now that it's five, I'm about to hit the pavement.  I'm not winning any awards for speed or style, but I'm taking care of myself, and that's a good thing.

Fat body and dirty house = happy kid

This morning I tried to workout. Every time I pressed play on the exercise program, Paul screamed and raised his arms at me.
I tried to sweep. Paul grabbed his mini-broom and swept my nice, neat pile all over the kitchen.
Frustrated with that, I tried to sit down and journal to relieve some stress. Paul used that opportunity to use me as a jungle gym.
As I type this, he has climbed in and out of my lap, typed on the keyboard and cried.
I feel like a Mack truck has hit me this morning with the realization that I need to let some frustrations go. I will be overweight, with a dirty house and an empty journal, but I can always fix those things later. Paul won't keep. He'll be in kindergarten before I know it, and I doubt he'll still want to hold me while I exercise.
Now he wants a hat. I better go pay attention.

Fat

This morning I was trying to take advantage of cancelled activities to exercise with my "Arms and Abs of Steel" video. My arms and abs remain flabby and the video remains paused in the VCR.

I was interrupted during my 15-minute workout by:
one phone call
one poopy diaper
one load of laundry
one crying toddler who walked right into the 3 lb. weight I was swinging
one giant glass of water spilled

The workout is, as I said, only 15-minutes.