Last fall we finally decided to join the Y. We probably should have done it sooner, but when the girls were little it was hard to imagine that we’d actually find the time to make a membership worth it. Some weeks it feels like all we do is work, and I had trouble imagining that we’d want to pick up little ones from daycare just to drop them off in gym-care. And besides that fact, I’ve just never really enjoyed working out in a gym – the noise, the crowds, the smell, and especially the effort – I mean, you have to decide to go, get dressed for it, drive there, park, and work out – and then repeat all of those steps in reverse (plus shower).
But then the girls were getting bigger, they were able to stay up a little later in the evenings, and because of our daytime work schedules, we were looking for some indoor activities in the cold, dark afternoons of wintertime. I was busy studying all the time, and M and the girls wanted some options for getting out of the house and being active. They started using the membership first, working out, swimming, dancing – and then I finally joined them in earnest just around the holidays, and regularly since the beginning of January.
I’m completely hooked. A bit sore as well.
I’m settling nicely into a new Saturday morning routine. I’m taking a 75 minute power yoga class which is as challenging and lovely/painful as it sounds. Sometimes M and the girls get up at the same time and head over to the gym with me, sometimes I go by myself and they join later. Every other morning of the week I’m the one putting breakfast on the table – twice on weekdays. Saturday morning is a little more serve yourself. I start the pot of water to boil on the stove, once for coffee, and then a second time for oatmeal. I can hear the rest of the crowd stirring above me, but it’s quiet in the kitchen where I sit and read, usually recipes or stories about food. The light in the kitchen is so good, and I pretend that I’m sitting in the new addition, soaking up the light and drinking just enough coffee to get me started. A few minutes later I’m on my mat, in the back of the exercise room where no one pays attention to my un-bendy toes that I’m slowly forcing into submission.
Monday nights are very different from Saturday mornings, but I’m starting to love them as well. M and I take a core class together for half an hour, where we shoot each other smiles and grimaces in the mirror. The instructor is cute and funny and relentless until it burns. I stick around for another hour of her cardio class while M does his own thing for a bit and then takes the girls home to start dinner. The class quickly weeded out the smart kids, and left about eight of us there to sweat and groan, but we laugh at ourselves, which is fun, and I’m getting used to waking up on Tuesday mornings a little stiff.
I like this routine – first thing on the weekend / first thing of the week. The days are lengthening, and will eventually warm a bit, and I can get an outdoor run or two in on the way home from work later in the week. I’m looking forward to that, because no matter how much I’m enjoying the classes at the Y, running is for trails, not treadmills.
