January 2018 – Page 2 – Sweat & Sparkle

Well, I Didn’t Die

94804a3965fcb0832bbde32e2bbf81d1 After lingering on death’s doorstep for week upon week, it’s nice to mostly be able to breathe now, and my raspy voice is slowly getting back to normal after a solid month of trying my damnedest to cough both lungs up. To celebrate my newly-reclaimed sort-of health, I signed up for Spinning class yesterday.

When I got winded just climbing the staircase to class, I started to seriously doubt the wisdom of said decision. Ummm, maybe this is too soon! I quickly did the math: it had been over a month since my last class, thanks to the holidays and then the cold/cough from hell. I wondered if it was too late to sneak out of the room and flee to the safety of my valiant steed (also known as my car).

Too late. Music started. I pedaled tentatively, and just as a false sense of security washed over me, my nose started to run, and I felt woefully out of breath. Being sick for so long has left me with no lung capacity whatsoever. How undignified would it be to keel over, right off the bike and onto the floor, with a definitive thud?

A few miles in, my lungs complained, and I started coughing. I drank some water and just paced myself. Maybe I wasn’t going 100 miles per hour like my super-fit robo-instructor. In fact, maybe I was pedaling with all the grace and finesse of a drunk toddler on a Big Wheels, but hey, I was pedaling, right?

By the grace of god, I finished class in one piece, still upright on the bike. Some days, that is accomplishment enough!

I hopped (okay, scrambled clumsily) off the bike to stretch, and my legs were like rubber, shaky and woozy. Great! Now everyone really is going to think I am under the influence of some illicit substance. I can’t even walk straight.

I made it to my car, fist-pumped in victory, and made my way home to share my courageous tale of conquest and dominion with my husband. I’m sure he was just hiding how impressed he was, you know, keeping it on the down-low so I stay humble.

Time to sign up for my next class!

From Snow to Scared

snowflake-3317-423a9ae38f3342e0c130c5473fee6d3c@1x Well, there was much excitement in this snoozing little town this morning! For the first time in nearly 30 years, we had snow. I was so happy the kids were with us for this. They have never seen snow, so my husband and I woke them up so they could watch the fat, white flurries. It didn’t last long, and it’s all melted already, but I got some great pictures from it, and my stepson even got to toss a mini snowball at his dad.

My office opened late due to the torrential snow storm and ensuing mayhem (ahem!). I grew up in the north, so this itty-bitty, barely-there dusting of snow throwing everyone into nail-biting panic and horror amuses me. But if my company wanted to give me some time extra off this morning, who was I to argue?

After work, however, the fun and the laughter and the excitement will abruptly be over. This evening we have to take the kids back to Hickville. I always worry about them when they are not with us, but now I am downright scared about taking them back. Psycho has never been accused of being a mentally stable individual (or even close to it), but some things that have happened lately show that her crazy is dialed up to “off the charts”. And the kids’ already-rocky, tumultuous other home is now in total chaos and drowning in even more unnecessary drama.

I can tell the kids enjoyed being with us the last few days and being calm and secure for a while, and I definitely felt more relaxed and peaceful with them here, knowing they are safe and happy. I am dreading the moment when it’s time to tell them to get ready to load up and head back over there.

Psycho has never shown any sign of caring about the kids as anything more than inanimate pawns for her to push around and manipulate. But lately it’s worse, from her bizarre behavior, her poor choices, unbridled lying, her rabid fascination with me, her pathetic, renewed attempts to get attention from my husband. I just feel like her usual insanity is whipped into a senseless, selfish frenzy, and when it ultimately and inevitably blows up, the kids are going to be the ones standing right there to take all the shrapnel.

Starting Over

34fa3b5fad9cc0561225187721b52716 Time for all the new year’s posts, all the resolutions, all the “new year, new me” hoo-rah promises. Time for the gym to be packed, only to empty out by Valentine’s Day. Time for a lot of fleeting, well-intentioned vows of change that likely won’t take root.

That’s what I have done every year, for many years. “This is going to be MY year!” Woo-hoo, fist bump, oh yeah…wait, is that a cheeseburger?

Not this year. Not that I don’t have goals for this year. I’m just not going to pretend that the start of a new year is any different than the start of any other new day. I’ve had the opportunity to make changes each morning. I haven’t done it…yet.

There’s nothing magical about New Year’s Day that makes it any easier. But maybe, this time, this year, I am finally fed up with starting a new year with the same damn blasted goals I have had for the past endless, countless years, and I just can’t tolerate the same old, same old anymore.

Thankfully, my cough has slowed way down. It’s a minor annoyance now. I finished the antibiotics and have eased up on all the other medications, trying to rid my body of all these chemicals. I am still stuffy and feel like I should walk around with a tissue duct-taped to my nose, but no fever, so there is nothing stopping me from getting back to working out.

I started yesterday, as soon as I got up. I am weak from being sick, so I just did a Leslie Sansone walking workout. I managed 3 miles and didn’t die, so I guess I will keep going!