Committing to Cardio

This post brought to you by an A Journey to Thin sponsor; content is my own.

I’ve been running my mouth about it for a couple of weeks now but it’s time to put my running shoes where my mouth is and take some action.

I’m committing to starting the Couch to 5K so that I can start reaping the benefits of cardio, some of which are explained in Women’s Health Magazine’s article titled 5 main brain boosting benefits of cardio exercises, which I can relate to my own life to help convince myself that I really need to do this.

I’ve been feeling a little blue again lately and I know that adding in cardio will get those “feel good” hormones flowing in my body. Not only will I grow my confidence, but (according to the article), I will also encourage brain growth and I’m down with that.

I don’t feel like I’m as productive as I want to be. My energy gets zapped way too quickly and by baby’s nap time I’m just ready to sit and relax with a cup of coffee in hand. According to the article, people who worked out were 23% more productive than on the days they didn’t work out. Coffee hasn’t been working its magic for me like I want it to, so instead of rolling out of bed and grabbing a cup of Joe, I’m going to start waking up at 6 a.m. for my cardio workout.

Last weekend when we went on a hilly bike ride for two hours, I started off feeling blue and ended feeling euphoric. The article references a study which indicates the exercise induced mood lift can last up to 12 hours—that gets me through the day! Exercise is great for stress relief and we all know I need that.

Why is it that the mind knows what the body needs and yet, while we never regret a workout, it’s a constant struggle to get it done? This is why I’m going to commit to get started by next week and possibly even tomorrow. I think that once I start forming better habits that I’ll be more inspired to continue on this journey.

I have no excuses—I have a treadmill and I can workout rain or shine while the baby naps. I also have a jogging stroller and could run outside if I need to workout while baby girl is awake. Not to mention, hubby and I could complete the workouts together. I just have to do it.

If you are interested in buying or using a treadmill or elliptical, you can refer to http://treadmill-ratings-reviews.com/ and https://fitness-equipment-source.com/.

Do you have any fitness goals you are committing to?

A Mishap at Day Camp

It has been a while since I wrote a post from the 52 Weeks of Gratitude Challenge prompts, so I decided I should write something for the next prompt, “a family member”.

“It’s ok—just climb down, Michael,” said the camp counselors. He shyly shook his head no and continued to remain firmly planted on the top of the blue monkey bars in just the right position to hide the rip in the back of his hand-me-down denim shorts that was threatening to show his red, blue and green briefs. He planned to stay there forever or at least until everyone else went home and it was dark enough that no one would see him.

It happened so quickly. At six years old, he was desperate to be like his cool older brother who could climb anything. He was so awesome that he could climb to the very top of the tallest trees and even the big round dome that covered the entrance to the slide! Michael thought if he just practiced hard enough, he would get there someday. But he attempted a maneuver to get to the top of the monkey bars that proved to be detrimental to his shorts. And so here he sat. Stuck.

I was busily running around the playground in my tired white tennis shoes with red socks, pink and blue flowered shorts, and a navy and white striped t-shirt that was too tight for my ever growing body. My braided brown hair was frizzy and forming a mane around my face.

One of the camp counselors informed me that Michael was refusing to climb down from the monkey bars and they didn’t know why. Like a mama bear, I quickly ran over to the monkey bars to see what was going on. I spied the rip in his shorts and knew exactly what the problem was. Hold on a couple of minutes, I said assuredly.

On a mission, I ran inside the school and found the craft supplies. I grabbed the masking tape and made my way back to Michael. His hazel eyes were ready to cry as one of his friends laughed and pointed at him.

On my tippy toes I reached up and carefully mended the shorts back together with the masking tape. Instead of a hole, he now had a masking tape patch. I convinced him that the hole was completely covered and finally he agreed to climb down.

I was beaming with pride as I stayed close to my little brother’s side—my friend who was the daddy when we played house with my dolls, my swimming buddy in our kiddie pool in the back yard, the little boy who I was so proud of because he could sing eerily like Britney Spears. He was my little brother and I knew I would always protect him, no matter what.

Thank you so much, he said with relief.

No problem, that’s what sisters are for, I said.

20 years later I still feel the same—even about all of my siblings, but especially about my little brother who isn’t so little anymore. Now he drives a shiny black Camaro (which I refer to as his bat mobile), lives in his own fancy apartment and has a great job. But if he needed me, I’d still run over and find a way to patch whatever needed mending.