Consistency

I am the world's most committed on-and-off exerciser.

I don't think I've ever exercised every day for more than two months in a row; I've also never gone more than two months in a row WITHOUT exercising.


Is that a check box on the doctor's questionaire?


Mr. Squishy is now eight months old. This came as quite a shock to me. That means he's almost NINE months old. NINE, people. It took me nine months for my body to blow up like a balloon, and I gave myself nine months to deflate. But I'm decidedly more squishy than he is.


Actually, I have lost all my baby weight. But my BODY ain't back. My legs are okay - I actually have the much-coveted space between my thighs. I like it. But my thunder thighs seem to have migrated upwards to my previously hourglass shape. I am now rectangular. My waist has DISAPPEARED. Is it possible to defy gravity? Cuz I just have. I used to be quite bottom heavy, but I've turned apple. I'm very conscious of my Santa belly, and my arms are very biceptuous as well. But not in a good way.


I'm a runner in general. Running is free and the most time-effective. No equipment. No driving anywhere. I do like the occasional Pilates, but I get sick of the same videos very easily.


The alarm goes off at 6AM and I debate with myself for a good twenty minutes whether or not I'm going to hit the pavement. (Or the cobblestone, to be exact.) I have to convince myself that it would be better for my body to exercise as opposed to sleeping another hour. Sometimes the pillow puts up an excellent argument.


But let's assume for today's illustration that my running shoes won. I slip on the contacts (running in glasses is ZERO FUN) and my bee-u-tiful running pants that are two inches above my ankle. My favorite sports bra is bright blue and was a present from a friend at Girls Camp with "Who dat? Becky J!" written in puffy paint. I pray that it doesn't rain.


The first third of my run is spent wishing the pillow won the fight. Every muscle in my body is protesting, and I'm breathing embarrasingly loud for the pace that I'm going. Who do you think you're kidding? You can't RUN. You run like a duck.


My hands are permanently forming the "thumbs up" position and my right arm punches the air in time to my feet, which splay out. I'm extremely bouncy. I run like Seinfeld's Elaine.


But the second third of the run is awesome. I'm warmed up. I realize that, not only CAN I run, I run AWESOME. I might even enter a 5K. Or a marathon. Or something. Visions of Skinny Me keep me going - graciously giving advice to wannabes and perhaps accepting the award for Hottest Mom on the Block. Maybe a TV appearance.


The last third of the way, I'm trying to figure out a shortcut home.


The trouble with exercising in the morning, though, is that you feel at liberty to eat what you want throughout the day. Sure, I'll have another cookie. I mean, I DID go running today.


Now, THAT'S worth all the trouble.