Beachbody confessions…

7 March 2013 By Leave a Comment

BBconfess Beachbody confessions...

Bless me Tony Horton, for I have sinned.  It has been five months since my last P90X workout.

Since then, I have strayed from the flock.  I have fallen from grace.  I have sat on my derriere too long.

Yay, while I sneak in an occasional yoga class, it does not absolve me of the extra dimples on my butt cheeks.

I covet pants the next size up.  I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror anymore.  Gone is any trace of my professional dancing days.  I alternate between wearing the same two pairs of jeans.  And Tony help me if I should have to wash one.  As they say, I am hitting critical mass.

Strength and flexibility have withered away, and I am now left quivering in Downward Dog.  I curse your crazy Dive Bomber push-ups, as there is no way in workout hell that I can do one anymore.  I place faith in Core Synergistics that I may be able to open a jar of pickles again sometime soon.

I have not been bringing it.  Nor have I even even bought it.  And I certainly haven’t done my best and forgotten the rest.

But, Tony, motivation has left me.  While I realize returning to the flock could change my outlook on life and expand my wardrobe, I cannot seem to muster the energy to put in a DVD and sweat to the sight of your gloriously white teeth.

I have been swayed by the comfort of my plush sofa and the distraction of Modern Family and Mad Men.  Please excuse time commitments to my kids’ school that has cut in to my devotion to you and your Kenpo.  Believe me, I would much rather be gritting my teeth while my thighs are on fire during leg squats than getting suckered in to volunteer work.

I have sinned with Costco-sized bags of tortilla chips and large vats of Nutella.  I have lost sight of portion size.  I have been persuaded by the dark side that is Girl Scout Cookies and left-over Valentine’s Day candy.  Help me, Oh Tony, get back on the path of righteous eating and Salads of Exaltation.

It has been months since I have embraced your corny jokes.  It’s been even longer since I have visited with Brother Shaun T and his Insanity, or spent quality time with Leandro in his Temple of Brazilian Butts.   I am but a lost, soft sheep wandering aimlessly in oversized mom jeans, dreading the shock that is Shorts Season.

Show me the way back to physical fitness, Tony Horton.  Help me to resolve the error of my sloth-like ways.

I will repent with three sets of sneaky lunges, several rounds of Ab Ripper X, and a host of plyometrics sessions.

In the name of the Pull-up, the Burpee, and the Mason Twist…I sweat.

Filed Under: p90x, working out

Om my gosh: how yoga might just save me…

11 October 2012 By 6 Comments

I didn’t intend to start the day with a yoga class.  It wasn’t even on my radar.  My plan was to spend enough time on the elliptical machine to break out a sweat and burn enough calories to offset my quota of PopTarts I’d eaten for breakfast.  But walking down the hallway, I ran in to a mother from the kids’ school who roped me in to going to a yoga class with her.  And this yoga class?  It might just be my salvation.  The answer to everything that I’m struggling with right now.  The alternative to Zoloft.

Discounting the yoga that I’d done with P90X (I mean, I love Tony Horton as much as the next guy, but he’s not necessarily B.K.S. Iyengar), the last time I’d taken an organized yoga class was the low-energy prenatal yoga classes I’d taken when pregnant with Miss P.  Before that, it was the slightly-crazy class I attended with a friend in NYC that was so filled with yoga fanatics that I felt insecure and inadequate that I couldn’t even look the teacher in the eye.  And even WAY before that, the last time I’d done yoga regularly was over a decade ago.

So, yeah, it’d been a while.

I was nervous, intimidated, and wrought with all those First Encounter Jitters:  Where do I put my shoes? How should I lay out my mat?  Do I need all that gear?  Am I supposed to be stretching before we begin, or can I just sit here and chat with my friend?  And, God forbid, what if I queef?

We started out with some stretching and I quickly realized I wasn’t dressed for yoga.  I had on a baggy camisole and baggy sweats, and when the room began to get toasty, I was a floppy mess.  Still, the stretching…my God, THE STRETCHING.  My body was eternally grateful for all of those twists and bends, simultaneously cursing me for not stretching more regularly.

Then we started to move through asanas, did some balance poses, some abdominal strengthening, and before I knew it, the yoga class was over.  And, man, did I feel great.  For the first time since we’ve moved here, I felt connected back to my body.  The teacher (also a mom, who had told us she was up most of the night with a croupy kid) kept instilling this mantra (for us? or for her?):  This is for YOU, this is YOUR time.  All that other crap that’s coming in to your head? Drop it.

And I did.

All that breathing, stretching, strengthening, moving, it felt glorious.  Like the missing link.  In that yoga class, I realized how much I miss dancing.  Moving my body in a three-dimensional way.  Feeling grounded.  Feeling home.

And that euphoria?  It lasted for the rest of the day.  What a bonus, right?  I found myself getting less wigged out over every little thing my kids did that might otherwise annoy me.  I didn’t have my usual late-afternoon headache.  And I actually felt good about myself.  How did I forget about yoga?  I knew it was out there, that there were classes at the gym.  Why didn’t I do this sooner?  I’ll tell you why…my stupid mind fed me all sorts of excuses, filled me with fear of the unknown, of what might happen, or of how ridiculous I might look.  I’m so grateful for the mom that talked me in to going with her.  Sometimes all we need is a little push in the right direction.

This yoga class might just be the answer to the loss I feel about not having a dance career anymore.  I knew, deep down inside, that I’d been mourning that aspect of my life, but I don’t think I’ve come to terms with and accepted it just yet.  Yoga might be the gentle hand that leads me over to the other side of my career transition.

As they say at the end of a yoga class, namaste.  Namaste indeed.

Filed Under: dancing, depression, happiness, mid-career crisis, p90x

Halfway Bringing It…

25 May 2011 By 27 Comments

Two months ago, I completed my first round of P90X. It felt great. I felt strong, solid, and a tiny bit tighter.

That was two months ago. I’ve fallen off the wagon and need to get back on. Yet, I have ZERO motivation. Every now and then, I will put in a DVD and workout during Miss P’s nap, usually one of the cardio sessions. But I can’t seem to find my groove. That six days a week workout thing? I’m not sure why I could manage it for three months, but can’t seem to do it once a week now. I KNOW that getting moving would improve my mood dramatically. Not to mention help out my self esteem. I have no more excuses now. The kids parties are all done, so there’s no planning to use as a way out. Summer is approaching, which means pasty legs in shorts and skirts. But it also means having Mr. B home during nap time. My workout time.

It’s time to draft a plan. First and foremost? Watching what I eat. Goodness, I feel like I’ve ballooned. Even though I’m only four pounds above where I feel comfortable, those four pounds make the difference between sliding easily in to pants, or having to wiggle them over certain areas and leave the house feeling like my pants are a sausage casing.  Hopefully I can come in here and post my success (see?  Attempting to be Positive!) and hold myself accountable.

What’s your tactic for dealing with an older, non-napping sibling, while one still naps and you’re trying to accomplish something? I’m not wanting to default to television babysitters, so I’ll take whatever you can give.

Filed Under: p90x, working out