Since the weather has turned sauna-like lately, I've been looking for exercise I can do indoors. I like walking, when the weather's bearable, and I even started "faux" hiking at a nearby park with slightly hilly trails. I just can't get myself moving early enough in the morning to walk before it gets too hot, however.
The other day, Kevin was cleaning out an old steamer trunk I fixed up a few years ago and found several videotapes I'd stored in there. Most were taped performances of plays I did with the theater group in Mayberry, and I'll hang on to them, in case I need to be amused by bad amateur theater some day. One was a jazzercise tape I used to do when Daniel was little. I popped it in the VCR and started giggling almost immediately. The tape is from 1986, and the instructor and all the women in the class are festooned in headbands, leg warmers, and neon leotards. I haven't seen so much '80s exercise wear since Flashdance. And the music, oh, my God. Tres cheesy.
I've been sticking with it because the routine is short enough that I don't collapse, and it does get my heart rate up. That damn instructor is so perky that I want to strangle her with fluorescent green leg warmers, however. At one point, she actually says, "Are you smiling?? If you're smiling, I know you're breathing!" I'm not admitting anything, but I MIGHT have snapped, "No, I'm holding my breath just to be ornery and frowning at your insanely cheerful squirrel face." I don't handle perkiness well when I'm at my best, so you can imagine my reaction to it when I'm sweating in contorted positions.
I'm determined to keep exercising, mostly because I'm getting positive results, and it helps with stress. A tiny part of my determination is also fueled by proving my mother wrong. About a month ago, I told her I was taking several pairs of pants to my church's clothing drive because they were falling off me. She said (and I'm still angry about this), "Oh, don't get rid of your big clothes! You'll need them when you gain the weight back." Oh, yes. She DID.
A couple of days ago, I told her I'd lost 5 more pounds, for a total of 55. Today I got a big envelope in the mail from her, containing articles she clipped from her "lady magazines"--you know, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day, etc., etc. Help me decipher my mom's mixed messages, would you? She attached a note to the articles, saying "So proud of you, and you are so pretty," meaning, I'm assuming, I wasn't pretty before. Fine, but I'm choosing to believe her note was largely positive. OK, partially. Now get this: The first article is about "diet derailers." Let me quote the opener for you: "You've been dieting for a few months and have dropped some weight. You're feeling pretty good about your progress and then--bam!--something gets in the way to land you back where you started."
That woman isn't going to be happy until I gain every pound back. Well, I hate to disappoint her, but I'm going to disappoint her.