Tag: Exercise

Day After Day

School starts next Monday, and while most northern states are still coming up with a game plan, here in the south we had to decide by 17 July: remote learning, or face-to-grimy-face. I asked for opinions from friends and family, but the truth of the matter is, I made my decision back in May, when school ended for the summer.

Of course then I watched as county after county around us put their face-to-germy-face option on the back burner, making all students do remote learning—at least until September. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Even though my kids are locked in to remote learning for the first 9 week, I sure do love to doubt myself. Is this the right decision? Am I being paranoid? Am I going to lose my mind? I believe the answers are Yes, No, and Oh hell yes.

You see, I am not what you would call “organized.” Or good with schedules, or staying on task. And while we had 3 months of practice in the spring, I am not a teacher. I never wanted to be a teacher. I can teach you how to swim, I can teach you how to be a lifeguard…neither of those things dramatically shape a person’s future. I mean, I suppose they do. Congratulations, you no longer have to worry about drowning; hooray, you now have the skills to swim laps for exercise; look at you, completing the requirements for an awesome summer job. But, based on the number of adults I have taught to swim over the last 2 decades, you can survive in the real world without knowing how to tread water or rotary breathe.

So, step one of this adventure was more about me. I am a notorious schedule maker…and breaker. I have spent my years going into every day with a plan: these are the items I need to complete, and this is the time I have to get it done. Ooh wait—should I alphabetize my pasta?!

I have lost track of the number of times Justin has said, “Sammi, I love you. But I wish you could complete one task before moving on to the next.” Hey buddy, I would like to complete one thought before moving on to—squirrel!

Right—step one. For the last month, I have written out a daily schedule and followed through. By week 3 I had even added morning yoga into the mix; by week 4, I was starting each morning with chanting before yoga. And I have swept my house every-single-day. Which most people are probably either thinking “why,” or “so?” Because, and you wouldn’t understand.

I don’t just ride the struggle bus—I am the driver. Everything is draining. If I get overwhelmed by…anything (and I mean anything), I have a tendency to shut down. And by “shut down,” I mean nap. As the driver of this struggle bus, I also know that both of my kids are frequent passengers. If I can’t keep it together, we’re all going suffer.

I don’t want to jinx anything, because I really (truly) am impressed with my ability to finally follow through. But I have a really good feeling about this school year. Do I want to homeschool my kids? Absolutely not. Am I willing to send them back to school, when our state is averaging 16% positivity (and our county has averaged over 20%)? Absolutely not! I can barely manage to convince my son to keep a shirt on all day—in what world do we think kids are going to do about wearing masks at school!?

It’s the Final Countdown

Justin has been gone 368 days. In this past year, I have done some crazy things, and learned so much about me.

I decided that being a Temporary Single Mom wasn’t enough of a challenge, so I upped the ante and took a full time job as well. Single Working Moms everywhere deserve so much recognition, especially those Moms who live far away from family or any support system. It is hard. It is lonely. At times, it seemed impossible. My last day of work came 2 weeks ago, and while it was bittersweet, I can look back at this year and be proud that I didn’t drown in an overwhelming avalanche of stress. What doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.

I learned that you can’t put yourself last. No matter how many millions of items might be on your list, putting yourself on the back burner does not help anything. This lesson was learned late in my year–I really only embraced this one sometime around the middle of July. The world might weigh me down, but an hour a day throwing heavy weights around is better than any session with a therapist…but, it might also help that Terry the Torturer is basically my therapist.

People will try to sympathize with you, but there are only a handful of people who know what you’re going through. No, your husband’s weeklong work trip does not compare. It’s true, the sympathetic comparisons this go-around were much less stinging than they were when he was deployed. Every military spouse who has been unwillingly separated from their love has been there, listening to friends who can’t imagine how terrifying it is to know your love is somewhere dangerous, saying things like, “I totally know how you feel! One time, my husband went to California for a week, and it was awful.” While I’m sure it was awful, I doubt you also had to worry about the terrifying reality that you might not see him again.

This time, I realized that people didn’t quite understand my nonchalant attitude. When you said, “oh gosh, that must be so hard,” and I responded by telling  you it really wasn’t, that wasn’t me telling you that it’s easy for me to be 7000 miles away from my husband for a year–it was me telling you that I don’t have to spend the next year panicking every time the doorbell rings. When you’ve survived a 15 month deployment, 12 months overseas and not in a war zone, is easy breezy.

I also found comfort in a surprising location: the women who participated in my aquacise class. These Army Wives of yore are the real deal. My generation of Military Spouse often forget that we aren’t the first. “My husband was in Korea, but back then, there was a war going on.” And there was no FaceTime, no texting, no phone calls. 60 years ago, you waited in hopes of receiving a letter from your love. In comparison, a year apart in 2018 is a cakewalk.

In less than 48 hours, my world will be back to normal. My best friend will be home, and I’ll get to torment him in person again.

I’m a lot stronger than I thought I was; I survived.

This Little Piggy has an Eating Problem

Self-sabotage is my name, and unhealthy eating is my game.

I have decided that, starting tomorrow and continuing through the month of February, I will be giving up complex carbs. I should probably go ahead and give up over-eating.

But first, I had to say goodbye to all of my friends:

Donuts, bagels, sushi…yes, sushi is pretty healthy, but when you eat until you’re full, and then take 3 more bites, it loses its healthfulness.

I’m sitting here right now, having just finished a massive sushi platter, and then followed it with a Panera At Home Broccoli Cheddar Soup. I was full before I even started the soup, but I had already heated it up. In fact, the sushi only happened because I’m at work, and Xander asked me to get him lunch. I ran to the commissary, and then foolishly let myself walk by the sushi kiosk.

Now, I’m too full, and while I’m sitting here thinking, “oh my gut,” I’m debating if I should just sit back and wait to digest all of this, or if I should have one more bite.

Because one more bite will definitely fix the situation!

It won’t. I used to do the same thing when I was pregnant, but with acid reflux. “Oh, my acid reflux! Maybe I should have ice cream, because the Oreos are killing me!”

Step 1: Announce to Terry the Torturer my plan, so that in 3 days when I walk past a bagel and cry longingly, I will be less likely to grab it and cram it into my mouth as fast as possible. Because, if he found out, ooh I would be in so much trouble–which really means an hour of burpees on top of everything else he makes me do that day.

Step 2: Also admit to Terry the Torturer that I have been sabotaging myself these past few months. I know, we had this same talk this summer, when Water Park fried food was working against me. His words: “You work way too hard to sabotage yourself eating that crap.” He’s right. Sadface.

So long, tasty snack friends. Ben, Jerry, I’ll miss you too. But you’re making it too hard to reach my goal. We need a break.

My mouth will miss you, but my waistline will thank me for kissing you all goodbye…and then immediately devouring you.

Ok, my waistline (and scale) can start thanking me tomorrow.

For the Love of Burpees

I have a great trainer. He’s evil.

A good personal trainer is like a good therapist. These days, my trainer is equal parts trainer and therapist, probably because it’s easier for me to text Terry the Torturer and say, “let’s work out,” thank it is to call and try to fit an appointment into my schedule, just to talk to my therapist. Also, Terry throws workouts and threats at me if I don’t contact him first–there aren’t many therapists that threaten you with “Cardio of Death” if you don’t call and set up an appointment. If they exist, I’ve yet to find them.

Now, for the burpees.

Were you aware of the plethora of burpee varieties?! For many months, it was the Spartan Burpee that was the favored torture device. My sassy sarcasm lead to hundreds of spartan burpees. There were Burpees Around the World, which is an adorable way to say, “do burpees the entire distance around the gym’s track.” Then, for funsies, add a broad jump. Or a squat. Or both!

Over the last two weeks, I have had a lot of (justified, in my opinion) excuses for not making time to work out. Terry, of course, has no sympathy. It’s part of what makes him a good fit for me–I have excuses for days, and he won’t accept any of them. Find the time; make the time. It is just that easy, but, gosh, it is just as easy to say, “not today. I have too much work to do.”

The problem with every excuse is that I work in a gym. Plus I have a home gym. And I also have a goal that Terry refuses to let me forget about setting.

These days, the burpee of choice is a lovely combination of burped and high-knee jump squat action. Just when you begin to think burpees can’t get worse, they get SO much worse! According to him, there will be more varieties–most likely, they will be worse than the current variety.

Maybe I should hire Terry to come to my house and threaten me with more burpees if I don’t do the dishes. But if I’m completely honest with myself, having to do dishes is so much worse than burpees.

How Did I Pass Kindergarten!?

Working with a trainer this past month has taught me 2 things about myself: I have to learn how to run, and I can’t jump rope.

Excuse me what?!

While my kids were home on spring break, I was given the task of jumping rope during one of my at home workouts. It was the worst. 100 passes took me most of the day. How could an activity children do for fun, be so evil!? My heart was pounding, I was unbelievably sweaty. It was brutal. What a workout.

Last Tuesday, Terry the Tormentor brought jump rope back to our workout routine. 50 passes. Ok, Sam. Deep breath, you can do this…until I hit 20something and he shouts, “what?! What?! No no no. Stop. What are you doing!?” Everything wrong, that’s what. He asked if Justin had ever seen me jump rope. Um, NO! He’s never seen me pee either, and I’m ok with keeping both activities private from him, thank you!

Of course, with my poor jump roping skills, and my poor running technique, I was left wondering: how in the world did I ever graduate from Kindergarten!?

Before you start thinking too hard about what I’m doing wrong, I’ll tell you. I’m kick my feet up to my butt, bend my knees, swing my arms like wild windmills. Do I jump over the rope? Obviously. Can I do it multiple times in a row? Of course! Am I putting way too much effort into what everyone else makes look like a simple task? You have no idea.

I watched as the surrounding men in the gym subtly relocated away from my wildly swinging rope, with a look of fear and amazement in their eyes, as if to say, “what is she doing,” and “I don’t want to die.” I don’t blame them. I would move away from my awkwardly, wild swinging rope too! Nothing about what I do makes sense, and it all seems dangerous.

I can color in the lines, and I can write my name. Kindergarten PE: Fail.