While it’s true that my new job has many perks (did I mention the spa retreat in cottage country next month?), it’s not all rainbows and kitty cats. Aside from the whole working part of it, I’m also finding that the activities like grocery shopping that I once took for granted must now be squeezed into miniscule compartments of time while my kids clamber for my undivided attention.
The biggest hit has been to my exercise. Before starting my job, I was a regular at my kick-ass yoga studio’s sunrise yoga class (Hi Melissa! I miss you!) and downward dogging had become a daily
obsession routine. I’ve tried practicing at home before work, but escaping to the land of Zen is difficult with a four-year-old trying to ride me like a horse. Sometimes I drag myself to a class after the kids are in bed, but I’m not in the habit of getting hot and sweaty after eight o’clock unless the Serb buys me a nice meal first.
Then I found Insanity, in every sense of the word. A couple of friends lost their post-baby weight with Insanity, a series of half-hour cross-fit DVD workouts. It’s an eight-week program that progressively intensifies, but I decided to start with the recovery week DVD that focused on core and balance—it sounded vaguely yoga-like and I figured I’d have a fighting chance.
Within minutes I was drenched in sweat as I lumbered through squats, lunges and push-ups. It was eerily similar to the boot camp I’d attempted last winter; that debacle had left me unable to rise from the toilet unassisted for a week thanks to my shredded quadriceps. When I saw the uber-fit twenty-somethings dripping from their efforts, I knew I was in trouble.
I rallied myself with the reminder that I’d birthed two babies, completed a triathlon and endured a 10-month ear infection. Surely I could make it through twenty-seven more minutes of sit-ups. I persevered and finished the workout. And three days later—when I could once again stand up from the toilet without assistance—I bought a six-month membership at the yoga studio.
I’ve determined that I like my exercise like I do my lovin’: sweaty, challenging and yielding positive results, but with minimal chance of me dying during the act.