In a moment of inspired “We Can Do It!”, two friends and I signed up for personal training at the local gym.


It’s a good idea – we’re all three at similar fitness levels (aka, none, lol) and have great senses of humor so can laugh at with each other.  We have weight to lose, and goals to reach.

The problem is, after Day One, I can barely lift my coffee cup this morning.

It may actually hurt to type.


It’s all good, really.  I mean, years of doing absolutely nothing have gotten me to this point – which is a very out of shape, kinda wobbly point.  My main goals are to lose weight and become stronger, because Maura’s getting my size, and is beginning to knock me down with love.  No, really, she will launch herself at you to give you a hug, and I have started bracing myself otherwise I stumble backwards.

Also, I’m realizing that I’m not as young as I once was, and I don’t want to be one of those older women who are out of shape and waddling, huffing as they walk.  I don’t want to be that person.  I want to be dancing still when I’m 80 years old.

So I’m paying some young guy to make me lift heavy things and glare at him by the end of our session while telling him I may not like him so much.

Which is why I can’t have my husband help me work out.  While he may know all the right ways to work out, me telling him I don’t like him, and to eff off by the end of the work out won’t be good for our marriage.  Young guy I’m paying?  Can laugh it off.

I haven’t told him to eff off though.  Yet.  I might.  I make no promises.

But here we are, trying to get into shape.  And while doing so, I’m just going to remember why I’m doing this.  It’s not just about me, it’s about this girl who needs me to be healthy and around for a few more decades.  And not getting my hip broken when she knocks me over with a hug.

The things we do for our children…