As the holidays wind to a close, and I finish off a Bernard Callebaut white chocolate snowman, I’m starting to think about how I can undo the damage of the holiday season. Don’t all mommy blogs have to have an article or two on losing the baby weight/having more time for you/reclaiming lost youth and promise? Basically, I’m tired of feeling like a badly spayed cat. I don’t think I’m a lot heavier than I was before Hannah, but I’m definitely, um, wider? Increased in girth? I remember reading Victorian novels that described the matronly characters as “slightly thickened in the middle,” and suddenly I have a vivid insight into what that actually looks like. It sucks.
- The uber swank solution: My sister, the lawyer, generously offered me a Christmas gift to which I had a hard time saying no: a membership to one of the city’s swankiest health clubs so that we could go Wednesday and Friday mornings to the best fitness classes that Calgary has to offer. She is also consulting with a personal trainer. I love that idea but who has the money or the time? While she would pay for my membership, I’d still have to upgrade my work out gear, and I just read an article in Elle on the newest gym gear – that stuff is crazy expensive. I don’t think my Joe Fresh yoga top would cut it. While I love the idea, it’s hard to get over the social awkwardness and forced frugality that years of graduate school have drilled into me. And mornings? Don’t talk to me about mornings. Mornings and I don’t get along.
- The yuppy solution: Speaking of my Joe Fresh yoga top, I did try to rekindle one of my long standing loves – I went to a yoga class earlier this week. Actually, I got into my SUV with my yoga bag, swanky purse, iPhone and new tea thermos filled with Teaopia’s Christmas Green Tea blend, and just about had a yuppie seizure. The yoga class was a similar rude awakening. On the one hand, I love yoga for the fact that the classes are filled with bodies of all types, and it teaches you to stop looking around and caring how you compare. On the other hand, the university students with the skimpy outfits who come in large gaggles do their utmost to make you care how you compare. Why do they come in such loud, large groups, and where on earth do they get that accent? Did I talk like that when I was 20? That rapid, ironic banter that’s more clever than truly funny makes my ears bleed. Anyway, while it was nice to finally warm up enough to touch my toes for the first time in a long while, that work out was the closest I’m come to throwing up in a large group of people since I was pregnant. Here’s a New Year’s resolution to remember: don’t eat half of a Bernard Callebaut chocolate snowman before going to yoga.
- The granola solution: When I was young and pretty I lived in a remote mountain town and spent my free time skiing or climbing, both pastimes I loved and sorely miss. SO, in the last month I have revisited both pursuits. All I want to say about climbing is that it was a relief that my harness still fit, and my two climbing buddies were the source of the best inadvertent “that’s what she said” I’ve heard in a long time: Nick, belaying Pierre Olivier who was taking too long and sitting in his harness too much, yelled at him to “please hurry up and finish because my crotch is burning.” The skiing was less successful – in my mountain days going skiing required throwing the skis in the back of my truck, loading up the dog, and driving five minutes to some suitable snowy area. Now, it requires finding all my old gear, negotiating the use of the car, finding a babysitter and rearranging strollers and seats to make room for skis, then driving for 1.5 hours. Nonetheless, I did it to meet a dear friend of mine driving in from the mountains to meet me. Just as I was parking in Banff, I got a phone call from Brian to let me know that my ski boots were waiting patiently for me by the front door. My friend and I had a nice walk, and I managed to not cry. I miss these sports so much, but the organization required taxes my already desultory time management skills such that it’s a real endeavor.
- The mommy solution: I’m a sucker for crazy fitness trends and Brian knows this, and supported my weakness by buying me a fitness game for the wii. He managed to find me a zumba game that manages to be both entertaining and not hopelessly juvenile, so kudos to Brian. The advantage to the home video approach is that it’s easier to schedule and no one sees you dancing like Elaine from Seinfeld. The disadvantage is that it’s an invitation to your toddler to climb on mommy during the stretches, and that rare is the home with an area big enough for exercise without running into furniture. My zumba workout this week was hard on the Christmas tree and consisted of me swearing at the television: “Not done YET? Whatever, you dozy bitch, you’re not even REAL!”
- The grad school solution: For the overworked and underpaid, there’s no workout quite like running. It’s cheap, portable, and can be done at any time. I remember my grad school days where I was running three times a week, in any weather, and running half marathons just for the hell of it. It’s easy to complain about how much harder it is now, with scheduling and sore joints, but the truth is with a baby jogger there’s no excuse and it remains my favorite pastime. This last summer Hannah and I would hit the trails and be gone for an hour or so, going farther and farther distances, and it’s the closest I’ve come to being fit and happy in a long time. Here’s the kicker though – neglect running for a few weeks and it will make its disappointment known to you. Every time I return to running after a hiatus it triggers some nasty respiratory ailment that convinces me that my lab work has finally managed to kill me with bacterial pneumonia.
- The gym membership solution: this must be a banner time of year for owners of gyms. People disgusted by their gluttony and sloth over the holiest time of the year are filled with penitence and ripe for exploitation. A year ago Brian and I broke down and considered getting a membership to the local Gold’s Gym. Given my distaste for the younger generation evidenced in point 2, this should have been a non-starter, as Gold’s Gym is the notorious breeding ground for the shallow, underfed, and over tanned. But we heard there was a pool and some good classes, so we thought we should shelve our preconceptions and check it out. We shouldn’t have. We entered and were greeted by some emaciated caricature who let us know in her disinterested drawl that we would be required to fill out a “waiver,” complete with address and phone number, for insurance reasons, just to look around. When I said I had no problem signing something but would not leave a number, she smugly apologized and insisted that it was company policy. No one enters unless they can be harangued later to join the gym. That night was one of two times in my whole life that I was mad enough to employ the “talk to the hand” in all seriousness. The point of this rant is that the majority of people sign up for gym memberships that are underused, at best, and the cheaper option is to pay for a drop in when you want to lift weights. Apparently people like to lift weights. Who knew? Anyway, pay as you go.
- The west coast solution: I went to university in Victoria, and learned to play ultimate in the 90s when it was mostly potheads playing a sport that didn’t require any aggression, skill or financial investment of any sort. It was perfect for me, a skinny, uncoordinated girl who mostly loved sprinting aimlessly across the muddy fields. I actually got slightly good at it –faint praise, I know. When I moved to Calgary, single and lonely, I joined an ultimate team to make friends. Ultimate in Calgary was a much different creature: there was no loving, supportive cheers and arguments over fouls such as “no, I fouled you! No, I fouled YOU!” My team actually started a brawl with a rugby team over field space. On our first game, one player dislocated his shoulder, one threw up on the sidelines, and one broke her nose walking into the door of the bar after the game. I’m ok now leaving ultimate as a wonderful game of my past.
- The sensible solution: It would be irresponsible of me to talk about healthy living and neglect talking about diet, but that really is how I live my life. If I could persist in my delusion that a diet of nothing but pasta and Bernard Callebaut snowmen were the recipe for beauty and happiness, then I would. Apparently you’re supposed to eat seven to ten servings of fruit and vegetables a day. I love fruits and especially vegetables, but I binge on them the way I do Bernard Callebaut chocolate snowmen. I can eat a whole bag of carrots in one sitting. Apparently it’s healthier and much easier on your stomach to spread those carrots out over separate meals. Anyway, if you can squeeze in those 7-10 servings a day, it leaves a lot less room for chocolate snowmen. So maybe I’ll give that a try.
I thought I’d come up with 10 get-fit-quick schemes, but this year I’m resolving to be an underachiever. With that in mind, get active, have fun, and like any good resolution: set your sights high, but keep your expectations low.
