Operation Smokin' Body
I'm really, really glad that when I was a single 20-something with basically no cares in the world, I didn't go to the gym. I mean, why have a hot bod when you can have a rolly polly one?
Pretty much from the time I graduated university in 2001 until my life got pretty serious with the BF and our family in 2004, my day to day existence went something like this:
1. Wake up.
2. Shower, get dressed.
3. Bomb to work (because I was almost always late.)
4. Work approximately 8 to 12 hours.
5. Come home.
6. Watch Sex and the City reruns, CSI, Law&Order, Who Wants to Be A Millionaire, Survivor, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Jeopardy, American Idol, Canadian Idol.
7. Go out for drinky drinks with the girls.
8. Come home.
9. Read magazines in bed.
10. Sleep.
You see, I really didn't have any free time to exercise. I was a busy girl. There was, obviously, not a free half hour to dedicate to exercise. (For six months, I had a personal trainer at Good Life and though I did work my butt off, it's hard to tone and slim when you're eating dinner and then having a McChicken and super size fries for dessert every night. Yes, every night.)
Now, life is crazy. Teenagers. Baby. House. Careers. Two cars. Household chores (um, theoretically I should be doing chores.) And yet, the BF and I are trying to go the gym.
On Monday night, I went to my first exercise class at our local YMCA. The boyfriend and I signed up and vowed we would go. He wants to go to maintain his health. He's 47 going on 36.
I want to go to the gym to get my pre-baby body back and maybe, dare I say it, even lose a few more pounds.
To use the most overused phrase of 2006, I'm trying to bring the Sarah Crosbie "sexy back."
Monday, I took the hip hop exercise class. Want a good laugh and a good time? Come check out a bunch of 20 and 30-something white ladies doing hip hop. So You Think You Can Dance dancers we ain't (no offence to any of the girls... )
Wednesday at lunch I took an "express" sculpt class, a 40-minute quick paced class that shoves mega muscle work into a lunch hour.
I started working with five-pound weights. A few minutes into the class, I had to drop to two-pound weights. Ow. It hurt. I'm sure by tonight I'm not going to be able to pick up my child. I've already got the arm shakes.
But we're five days into Operation Smokin' Body and I'm droppin' it like it's hot.
(That's what the cool kids who are versed in hip hop would say, right?)
For those of you who bothered to click here, I have a secret for you: I did work hard/eat right this week, except for the whole mushroom pizza I ate last night after a fight with the BF ... oops.
Pretty much from the time I graduated university in 2001 until my life got pretty serious with the BF and our family in 2004, my day to day existence went something like this:
1. Wake up.
2. Shower, get dressed.
3. Bomb to work (because I was almost always late.)
4. Work approximately 8 to 12 hours.
5. Come home.
6. Watch Sex and the City reruns, CSI, Law&Order, Who Wants to Be A Millionaire, Survivor, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Jeopardy, American Idol, Canadian Idol.
7. Go out for drinky drinks with the girls.
8. Come home.
9. Read magazines in bed.
10. Sleep.
You see, I really didn't have any free time to exercise. I was a busy girl. There was, obviously, not a free half hour to dedicate to exercise. (For six months, I had a personal trainer at Good Life and though I did work my butt off, it's hard to tone and slim when you're eating dinner and then having a McChicken and super size fries for dessert every night. Yes, every night.)
Now, life is crazy. Teenagers. Baby. House. Careers. Two cars. Household chores (um, theoretically I should be doing chores.) And yet, the BF and I are trying to go the gym.
On Monday night, I went to my first exercise class at our local YMCA. The boyfriend and I signed up and vowed we would go. He wants to go to maintain his health. He's 47 going on 36.
I want to go to the gym to get my pre-baby body back and maybe, dare I say it, even lose a few more pounds.
To use the most overused phrase of 2006, I'm trying to bring the Sarah Crosbie "sexy back."
Monday, I took the hip hop exercise class. Want a good laugh and a good time? Come check out a bunch of 20 and 30-something white ladies doing hip hop. So You Think You Can Dance dancers we ain't (no offence to any of the girls... )
Wednesday at lunch I took an "express" sculpt class, a 40-minute quick paced class that shoves mega muscle work into a lunch hour.
I started working with five-pound weights. A few minutes into the class, I had to drop to two-pound weights. Ow. It hurt. I'm sure by tonight I'm not going to be able to pick up my child. I've already got the arm shakes.
But we're five days into Operation Smokin' Body and I'm droppin' it like it's hot.
(That's what the cool kids who are versed in hip hop would say, right?)
For those of you who bothered to click here, I have a secret for you: I did work hard/eat right this week, except for the whole mushroom pizza I ate last night after a fight with the BF ... oops.
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