Sweating with Harry

I'm trying to be healthy. When I was younger and fewer of children, it was a great deal easier. I ran some miles outside in the morning and life was grand and I was thin-ish and fit. Well, age sets in. Children multiply and time diminishes and numbers I don't like expand and I am not healthy.

I have a no-frills gym membership that sometimes intimidates me but almost always fails to fit into my schedule whether it be their lack of childcare when I need it or the 30 minute travel time in which I would talk myself entirely out of exercising in the first place. What I have cobbled together currently, and which I hope leads to better health and cardiovascular fitness is a crazy compilation of things.

We have a treadmill that we inherited from a friend who inherited it from his dad, who is Harry Reid. It is old and possessed of few bells and whistles and when I use much of an incline, it squeaks like crickets live inside.

I have a resistance band that I got with a purchase of Pilates DVDs which I hate, but which works (tied to my bed post) as a pretty decent approximation of a leg extension machine.

I have a collection of hand weights. The three pounders, apparently, double as light sabers so that Bam and M can have epic battles in my room next to me while I lift.

I have a step stool that works pretty well as a weight bench, that my mother insisted DH buy for me when I was pregnant and we were moving into a new house and because I am short. It is sturdy and can withstand a great deal of jumping and stepping and activity.

I have a stability ball, well this one is the third in a series. The first two were popped. Because boys must pop large inflated things. They just must.

I have a BYU basketball which doubles as a playground ball for killer burpees and pushups and other things where a medicine ball would probably work better.

I still am able to run some miles outside with a friend. These tools help me fill in the blanks.

Probably the best part of exercising with this rag tag collection of equipment is that it is in my home. I am not at all afraid of embarrassing myself in front of my children (isn't that one of motherhood's most prized duties, anyway?). I turn my music up loud and sing louder and more off key. M gives me "exercise badges" (stickers) for my effort. I earned two this morning. I may go back to the gym on a regular basis eventually, but for now, battling fitness alongside light saber duels, rocking out to embarrass my 13 yo and sweating with Harry is hopefully going to get me where I need and want to be.