Kerrington turned eight weeks old yesterday. To celebrate, I put on my workout clothes, dusted off my Jillian Michaels' DVD, and questioned my sanity for 30 minutes as I forced my body to overcome lethargy.
Oh, I felt it this morning. Muscles that had been ignored during the latter months of pregnancy are once again in action, and I'm sore.
I had the clearance to begin exercising again when Kerrinton turned six weeks old. Then we traveled. Then we had family visit. Finally there were no more excuses, which is why I laced up my running shoes as soon as I got out of bed yesterday. Getting dressed in exercise clothes is essential for me. Even with intentions to exercise I can easily distract myself with useful but entirely unrelated chores. Case in point: I started a load of laundry, sorted the girls' clothes, began a pile for Goodwill, vacuumed the downstairs, and unloaded the dishwasher all before I put in the DVD. Had I not been wearing the clothes, I might not have followed through.
My girls watched as I began stretching. Reese placed a beach towel on the floor as her mat and followed along with the warm-ups. Mostly she asked questions: Mom, where does Jillian Michaels live? Do you think you'll ever meet her? Why not? Are they able to see us? Then why are they looking at us? Are you sure they can't they see us? Who's the other girl in the video? Brooke climbed on me each time I lowered myself onto the mat to do sit ups. Kerrington dozed on her blanket.
In between breathing out monosyllabic answers to Reese, dodging Brooke, and popping Kerrington's pacifier into her mouth, I completed the workout. It felt good. I felt good. I knew my thighs and arms would be sore the next morning, a small reminder that I had accomplished my goal the day before.
Day one of exercise, I beat you. Day two, here I come. My running shoes are on.