Jul
23
July 23, 2007
In no particular order, here are some reasons I’ve been using lately for avoiding working out:
• The contractors are here every morning, and I’d rather be set on fire than do Turbo Jam with them just a few feet away
• Riley’s bedtime is later than it used to be, mowing over that critical time period between getting home from work and eating dinner that used to be perfect for jogging
• I’m tired a lot of the time, see also: nauseated/hungry/headachy
• During Riley’s afternoon naps, instead of popping in a DVD and lacing up my gym shoes, I’ve been crawling into bed and passing out
• It’s been freakishly hot and/or muggy/raining for the last three goddamned weeks in a row
Excuses, excuses. The real truth of it, I suppose, is that I’m gaining weight and it’s discouraging. I’ve discovered when the vanity element is removed from exercise—ie, I’m not going to see “results” between now and next spring no matter what I do—it’s embarrassingly difficult to focus on the health aspect, which is more important anyway. I know there are plenty of good reasons to keep exercising during this pregnancy, but it’s so much harder to stay in the groove when I know my body is only going to get larger over the next several months.
I realize that sounds petty as hell, and yet without the positive reinforcement of seeing my waistline shrink as the result of working out, boy, I am really struggling with motivation.
At the same time, I am also trying to give myself a break. I don’t want to beat myself up for not pursuing some idealistic low-weight-gain pregnancy where only my belly gets adorably round and afterwards I magically turn into Brooke Burke (which, have you seen her 4-months-postpartum beach bikini photos, what the blue fuck, is she even human?) because who am I kidding. I don’t want to stress over every pound gained, every new rounded curve. I want to be happy with my growing body, not fighting it every step of the way.
The diet-concious, workout-minded person I made myself into just a few short months before getting pregnant looks in the mirror right now and feels dismay, because it’s nearly impossible not to view any weight gain as bad. The level-headed part of me that knows pregnancy inevitably, naturally brings change looks in the mirror and sees visible proof that I’m having a baby, and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing to see.
So I’m trying to carve out some new fitness goals and I’m trying to be okay with the fact that they’re different from the goals I had a few months ago. I’m most interested in keeping up with the yoga, toning work, and a lighter form of cardio—some Turbo Jam, some walking—and, god help me, I bought a Denise Austin “Fit Pregnancy” workout DVD (in which everyone wears leotards).
I am also trying not to eat an entire pint of ice cream every day. But I’ve green-lighted Peanut Butter Captain Crunch eaten in dry handfuls while watching John From Cincinnati, massive amounts of cantaloupe, and bacon chocolate.
Jul
22
July 22, 2007
Every now and then someone emails me to ask about the Seattle weather, usually because they’re considering moving to the area and they want to know if it’s really as bad as people say. I have no good answer for this, because weather is one of those subjective things, and also because the weather here is so hard to describe. It’s definitely dreary and wet for many months out of the year, but not relentlessly so: in between those days you get the kind of weather that makes you happy to be alive: clean, crisp, unspeakably beautiful. I usually love the weather in the Pacific Northwest, it’s mild and the air tastes good and your skin never gets peely.
HOWEVER. It has now been raining for like a MILLION DAYS IN A ROW (okay, maybe five? BUT STILL), and it is JULY FOR FUCK’S SAKE. It’s stiflingly warm outside which makes everything humid and repulsive, like a panting dog’s breath all over your body, and our yard is a swampland filled with mud and probably alligators. I am TIRED of the rain, and the stickiness, and the amount of collateral damage that can be caused by one toddler with wet dogshit smashed into his shoe.
To be completely honest, I think the rain and the cabin-fever feeling are freaking me out because I’m looking ahead to February, when I’m going to be mostly trapped inside with a newborn and a toddler, oh my god, oh my god, that is going to be crazy. I mean . . . jesus. What were we thinking? Are we out of our goddamned minds?
Whoo. Ahem. See, that’s what a million several days of rain in the best part of summer can do to you. You should move here, because it’s awesome, but bring some Prozac. Oh, and a raincoat.
Preferably one with a frog on it:
By the way, am I the only person left on earth who hasn’t been gripped by PotterMania? I read the first couple books and enjoyed them just fine, then just sort of forgot to read the rest. I feel like I should finish the series, because clearly I’m missing out, but it seems like a dangerously slippery slope . . . one day you’re cracking open your first book, the next you’re drawing a zigzag on your forehead and camping outside of Barnes & Noble. Basically, I’m the clueless dolt in the back of the crowd at Jonestown, going “Hey, where’d you get that fruit punch?”
-
My product review site:
[