Things behind the scenes here at the House of Chaos are off the fucking charts a little more chaotic than usual. Nothing I can talk about (GAH! I hate it when people do that, hinting at a problem but refusing to elaborate…but I really can’t say anything), but everything will turn out the way it was meant to be. Unfortunately, this is where I vent to prevent spontaneous combustion of the self, and by not releasing it all I’m truly playing with fire here.
So, instead of writing about how I’m going to wring a couple of boy necks for ringing the doorbell to make the dog bark and how freaking annoying the basement doorbell is overandoverandover, I have an essay I wrote a few weeks ago. In January I started a Healthy Living Challenge class at our local rec center. It focused on lifestyle changes, both in diet and exercise, and how to live a healthy life at any size. Part of the class was a challenge to win a year membership to the rec center and writing an essay was strongly suggested. While I did get a lot out of the class, to the point that I’m lifting weights several times a week and tomorrow start a 10K training class, I didn’t win. And while I didn’t win, I did write an essay that people enjoyed and was entertaining. Not bragging, when I was introduced the lead trainer called me funny. Made my night.
I have never considered myself athletically inclined. Maybe when I was a kid. I played youth softball, basketball in middle school, and I do recall one time begging my parents to let me run in our town’s fun run. They turned me down, saying it would stunt my growth. Hm. Given that I’m nearly six feet tall, a wee bit of growth-stunting may not have been all bad.
Until recently, that height hid a multitude of physical fitness sins. With great height comes a great ability to pack on the pounds without scaring small children and animals. Unfortunately, that does eventually catch up to you. Sometime in the last couple of years my metabolism took a look around, surveyed the landscape, and left on an extended vacation without me. I miss my metabolism. I hope it’s having a good time, wherever it is.
Late last fall I got tired of being a slug and started going to a few classes here at the rec center. Nothing like taking a step class and realizing A) you’re as graceful as a cross-eyed elk and B) that’s an insult to the elk. I heard about the Healthy Living Challenge, and was intrigued. I’d learn a few things, get to try some of the classes I hadn’t been able to attend, get out of the house for a few hours. Win win.
Best decision I made.
Next best decision was taking the group weights class that was offered. Much to my surprise I discovered that I really like lifting weights. Over the last several weeks I have noticed that I’m getting stronger. This is awesome, because now when my almost 9 year old refuses to go to his room, I have no problem grabbing him and dumping him upstairs. Hardly even break a sweat. I know, I know, this won’t work in a few years, but for now I’ll take it.
Somehow, through this Healthy Living class, I have (gasp) learned to enjoy fitness. No one is more surprised than I. I’ve also signed up for the 10k training class, and am considering a half marathon later this summer. This is proof-positive that my long suffering Chicago Cubs will take it all this year, as hell has evidently frozen over.
I am nowhere near any of the goals I set in January. I know my weight has barely changed and I’m pretty sure my metabolism is still on its world tour. But I am comfortable coming here now, whereas before I truly felt like a fish out of water. I enjoy fitness and now see it as an ongoing part of my life, and not just a means to an end. I can shovel cement…erm…spring snow for two hours and not want to die, and show my sons that even mom can learn something new.
When my metabolism does return, I’ll have a little celebration and then drag its lazy butt here to see what I’ve been doing in its absence. It has some catching up to do.