Making time for exercise

I am getting ready to run for the first time since my half marathon 6 days ago.  I promised myself a week of rest, and though I was on the verge of breaking that promise several times this week, I decided against it due to the insane amounts of pollen we've had.  Thankfully the rains came and finally washed most of it away!

This past week, with no running and very little other exercising on my agenda, I found myself spending lots of time doing the one thing that I tend to give up to make time for running and exercising - cleaning.  This week I have vacuumed, mopped, dusted, scrubbed, polished, washed, dried and organized 'til my hands are callused.  Unfortunately, with a husband, a small child and two cats in the house, the lovely luster won't last long, but I feel like I've given my best at a thorough Spring cleaning.

We don't live in squalor or anything like that, and I do tend to pick up and clean up in small amounts as I go.  If you came to my house on any given day, you may not even notice that the kitchen table could use a wiping or the hardwoods have leaky sippy cup stains.  But, do you really expect my house to be spotless all the time?  Truthfully, when I go to someone else's house who has a family, I am secretly relieved to see that it's not in tip-top shape.  Seeing a rogue stuffed animal tucked into the couch or a sprinkling of dust on a lampshade makes me feel better about my own less-than-perfect home, because it's REAL.  And, it helps me remember that there is no such thing as a Supermom; we're all just doing the best that we can.

In all honesty, giving up cleaning to make time for exercise makes me a BETTER mom and wife.  I'm more energetic, more patient and more happy.  Hail to the dust bunnies, I say! 

 I'm curious - what do you give up to make time for exercise in your busy life? 

My discovery (or, how I keep myself sane)

I've discovered that my attitude is in direct correlation to my activity level.  Sedentary = crabby.  Active = happy.  For the most part.  Exceptions do occur, such as being sedentary at the beach.  Vacation is a whole different mindset.

I discovered this today, when my plans for a grand "Tour de Chattahoochee River Area Parks" with the lil' guy were washed away by drizzle, wind and cooler than predicted temps; unfortunately, weather.com got it wrong again.  So, the toddler and I stayed home.  ALL. DAY. LONG.  I was okay when we were doing activities like reading, or playing trains, or constructing a NASCAR-esque race track for Matchbox cars out of a hula hoop, and when I was busy cooking or cleaning up.  During the lulls, like when said toddler refused to take a nap and I allowed him to watch Thomas and Berenstein Bears instead, I was bored outta my skull and grumpy.  When I decided on an impromptu game of "Hot Potato" using first a balled up sock, then a bouncy ball, then an actual potato (not hot, mind you), and we really got into it, running around the living room and tossing the objects back and forth, I was happy as a clam.  See?  Physical activity = one happy mollusk mama!

All day I was looking forward to Zumba tonight as an excuse to get me out of the house and burn off some pent up energy (and calories).  Oh yeah, and as an excuse to dance.  Barely 30 minutes into class, one of the staff members from the Playcenter at the Y came to get me and said the lil' guy was really upset.  I found him red faced with huge tears streaming down his cheeks, and he ran to me and clung to my leg.  Let me tell you that this NEVER happens.  In fact I don't think it has EVER happened, not even when he was much younger.  Turns out he was okay, just wanted his Mama for some unknown reason, but who can argue with that, right?  Nonetheless, I had to stop mid-merengue, put my mommy game face back on and walk out of there, dripping ponytail and all, carrying my 30-something pound mama's boy.  I was NOT happy.

So, my mood having turned from euphoric to bitter, I went home, performed the required amount of snuggling and put the lil' guy to bed.  Then I sat down with a glass of water and a catalog and tried to relax.  Nothin' doin'.  It didn't work.  I was angry, frustrated, and just generally PO'd that my precious hour of endorphin releasing cardio had been taken away from me.  STOLEN.  So, I got in the car, made the 5 minute drive (I may have run there if it weren't dark!) and marched my still slightly sweaty booty back into the Y.

After an hour and a half of weights, the medicine ball, a pilates ring (thank you, Lord, for that brilliant invention), some quality stretching and a few yoga poses, I was back to my old happy, bouncy, nothing-can-phase-me self.  Mission accomplished.  And realization discovered.  I. Need. Activity.  Unless I'm sleeping, or unless my toes are dug deep into the sand.