Last week, I did not run.
I wanted to, I really, really did. A sick baby meant I was up all hours of the night, dragging my tookus ten feet behind me because of the lack of sleep. Work deadlines meant I was dragging that tookus into a chair and not leaving, hammering away at my technical diddley, even through lunch.
I considered going out in the evening, but by the time we did dinner, spent time playing with the kids, bed time routine, and house chores, my tookus was way too tired to even contemplate squeezing into spandex to go out and run in the twilight (my most hated time of day to exercise), and instead wanted to sit and play Plants vs Zombies on my iPad.
I really dislike those pogo zombies, ya know? And the ones with zambonis and bobsleds…
Anyways, I guess you could say a perfect storm of
conflictsexcuses resulted in a zero gain on mileage. If this keeps up I’ll be walking that 5k in September, not jogging.
I need someone to tell me that this is normal. That working moms struggle with fitting their exercise time in as much as I am right now. That no motivation to get up at 5:30 A.M. to run, after 2 hours of sleep is ok, and not making me a horrible person. That working through my lunch isn’t a cop-out when I’m super busy, and not wanting to run in the dark at night isn’t being a pansy.
That stress relief (when my tookus has had enough and needs to plop in yon comfy living room chair) in the form of squishing zombies with menacing squash does not make me weird.
Ok so maybe a little weird. I really like blowing them up with potato bombs…
The jist is this. I have to be more active. The Diabetes Beast has caught me. I must lose weight and become fit to prevent my Diabetes from being a thing I live with. I want it to be a thing I beat into submission using my defined bicep and a running shoe, to be triumphant in my well-toned glory.
Take that blood sugars! Take that pancreas! HAH!
But, when two young children, a husband, a
disaster areahome, and a full-time career are all bleating for my full attention, what gives?
My time, that’s what. It is frustrating as #@%*, and I need advice on how to get past it.