Confession Is Good for the Soul

I had to confess to the daughter, aka the Exercise Nazi, the other day. Since the hubby retired, I have not been exercising as I should, and I am noticing the resultant lack of strength. Having felt better, I don’t like this at all, but since I have been a slacker for a year now, I had to ask her where I should start.  Again. She’s out for my good. She didn’t scold; she gave me tips for what is bothering me the most and reminded me to listen to my body.

Here are my excuses, for what they are worth. The hubby worked eighty hours a week on the average, so I had loads of semi-free time. My blog benefited and so did my muscles. I was used to keeping the time the hubby was home for him alone. Well…he’s home all the time now, or much of it, and I haven’t yet learned how to structure my day so that I get what I need done without running to do things with him. Not that doing things together is bad; it’s just that my things need attention, too. Oh…and mysteriously, when my porch was full of small children at Thanksgiving (yes, I do realize that was a long time ago), my exercise ball met with its demise courtesy of a straight pin. The daughter bought me a new one for Christmas. It’s still in the box.

All that is about to be remedied, though. I am enlisting the hubby’s help, and I am ready to begin my ball squats. (I have this theory that it’s hard for me to get up because I am so tall and there’s more of me to unfold. The daughter just rolls her eyes when I tell her this.) I dug out my wrist weights. I know where my hand weights are. By the time I go back to school, I am hoping to feel as strong as I did a mere year ago. Why is it that you don’t realize you’ve let things go until they have really gone downhill?

Anyway. I took the first step and confessed. The next one is to change my path. I’d ask you to wish me luck, but some prayer probably wouldn’t hurt either!

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