A few days ago, I was out to lunch with my girlfriends. We sat around the table discussing the happenings of our lives. There are plans for graduate school, a new boyfriend, a thriving musical career, and a new pregnancy. And all I could talk about was the exceptionally large mess my baby made in his diaper that morning. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth, and I knew how mundane the story was, and how inappropriate for lunchtime conversation... but I couldn't do anything about it. It was like word vomit.
Oh good. Another bodily function no one wants to read about.
This morning I was extra hungry after my workout, so I made myself what I call a "weekend breakfast:" scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and hot chocolate. I timed my preparations perfectly so that I could eat while the little dude was nursing. Yes, I'm very coordinated that way... or so I thought.
Twenty minutes later, I found a piece of toast in his hair and egg in his neck.
I think this is the most I've ever looked forward to spring. In my former life as a hot shot career person, the seasons didn't affect my life much. I was inside staring at a computer for most of the day no matter what temperature it was outside. But now...
The topic of motivation has been on my mind lately; specifically, the motivation to exercise. Clearly, the punk has no problem motivating himself to work out. Just put these bears in front of him and he's ready for a boxing match! However, I am not so easily persuaded.
In the 6 weeks following the punk's arrival, I lost about half the weight I put on during my pregnancy. But much to my chagrin, I lost only 2 lbs. during the next 6 weeks. When I discovered this, I roared my terrible roar and gnashed my terrible teeth and rolled my terrible eyes and showed my terrible claws. And then I put together a plan. You see, I've determined that the best way for me to motivate myself to work out is to create a chart. If there's a chart, there's accountability. This worked splendidly for me when I trained for my half marathon two years ago. Every day, I knew exactly how long I was supposed to run, and every day, I was able to check off my workout and see my progress. So. I put together a 12-week program. The first week I lost more weight than the previous 6 weeks combined! Then the second week, I got sloppy. I figured I was doing so well that it would be okay if I missed a workout or two and ate a few of my man's pizza rolls. Well, that bit of genius cost me half a pound that week.
Why? Why? Why? If I know my good behavior worked beautifully the first week, why did I decide to butcher the plan the next week?
How do you motivate yourself to exercise? Are you a long-term, big picture kind of person? Does the visualization of your future toned, fat-free body carry you through months of exercise? Or do you live day by day and hour by hour, constantly reminding yourself to "be good?"
When the punk and I went to the mall today to kill an hour, I told him in advance that this was just a window shopping trip. No purchases today, except for maybe a Diet Coke. But when he saw this hat, he just had to have it.
"No, Punk," I said. "Window shopping only today, remember?"
"But Mom, I'm going to need a hat to cover my bald, white head when the sun starts shining and we are finally able to go for daily outings in the park!"
My name is Chinese, but my hair is red. When I was young, the worst thing you could call me was a redhead. It was "golden," thank you very much. I am a full-time mama to the punk and the basher. I am a violinist with Strings of Elegance, a private piano teacher and math tutor, and an Assistant Director for The Gifted Music School. My violin and piano were both made in 1910, and I inherited both from different grandparents. I have an outie belly button. My man looks hot in his "old man" hats. I enjoy sushi, hot tubbing, and getting caught in the rain.