The Gym

There is something about the hum of treadmills that I've come to appreciate recently.

I'm a gym member. Not only am I a gym member, I'm a practicing gym member.

It's one hour, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays where I don't have to think about anything else but what I am doing right at that moment.

There's sweat involved and running and, for the record, I always hated running when I was growing up. I couldn't understand why people would choose to run for fun. Bleh.

But now I get it.

And you know, I really don't want to go to the gym. Well, I didn't at first.

I just really needed to stop feeling so blah. I wanted to feel better so we joined and there is something about paying gym fees every month that makes you want to get your money's worth. At least for me.

I wanted to feel better. And word around town is that exercise makes you feel better. I didn't buy it at first. Really, chocolate cake and home made chocolate chip cookies - 9 of them if you want to get specific - make me feel better. Not exercise. That makes me tired. And I have to find a sitter. And I want to take a nap, the baby was up last night, and...I'm really good at making excuses.

But I made myself and I hate to admit it but the rumors were true! I started feeling better. I feel so much better that I'm starting to look forward to going to the gym. It's my time. And it's between me, the treadmill, the zumba class, my IPOD, and the closed caption appearing on today's episode of Dr. Phil that floats above the said treadmill.

There's also something about the more exercise I get, the more health conscious I become, and the less crap I eat. I love food. I mean I loooove food. Not for emotional reasons, not because I'm bored, just because it tastes so heavenly, most of it. And pregnancy was heaven for me because it was my ticket to eat whatever I wanted without feeling bad even though the books say not to. Who cares about those books? When in a woman's life does she get to eat like that again?

So my problem was that I had to stop eating like I was pregnant. Not in portions of food but more in portions of sugar. I'm a sugar addict and my loved ones know this about me. I could never completely give it up but as I exercise more and feel a little better in my jeans, it makes me want to maybe not eat cookies at midnight.

Going to the gym makes me feel accomplished. No matter if the house is clean or my kids have been sufficiently coddled and entertained, I went to the gym...I accomplished something.

So here's to hoping for many more trips to the gym, easier fitting jeans, fewer cookies, and accomplishments.

Minivan

I've crossed over.

I've given in.

I'm the owner of a minivan.

I fought it for a while. Until I had two kids. And then I had a kid with special needs. And then I had another kid. And then there was no room for my kids' friends or my kids' legs or my kids for that matter.

So it had to happen.

We purchased the said minivan today and I am really, strangely excited about it.

It's basic, no bells and whistles unless you count automatic sliding doors as a bell or a whistle. But no DVD players, leather seats, wood grain, none of that nonsense. (Although if it were up to me I probably would have chosen an SUV with bells and whistles and DVD players that was crap under the hood and barely made it out of the dealership parking lot just because I like shiny things.)

I really don't consider myself a minivan type of girl, but my son and his special needs stroller say otherwise.

But back to my recent purchase...I drove it home today, actually kind of giddy about the whole thing. I drove my giddy butt to McDonald's for a snack size Reece's Peanut Butter Cup McFlurry and as I was leaving the parking lot to go grocery shopping I saw her.

A mom, young, skinny, with big boobs and a tiny waste. She was with her kids, climbing into an SUV. Bitch.

I wasn't so giddy anymore with my McFlurry and my minivan and my 15 pounds I still have from Lola.

I'm pretty sure I put on an extra five years and a few extra scowl lines on my face due to that little encounter.

But it's all good. I've traded my shiny things for practicality and more leg room.

I am mom, I own a minivan, hear me roar.