Embodiment of Motherhood.

Monday is my gym day. I like to go a few times a week, but Monday is the one day of the week in which I actually make it there. Monday afternoon is my favorite class, called "Body Conditioning". When I first started going to the gym, over 20 years ago, this same class was called "Stretch & Tone". Now two points should be made clear, first, I have NOT been going to the gym consistently for over 20 years. Second, no matter what the class is called it involves weights, leg lifts and a great inadequacy on my part.

Yesterday, I needed the work out. A good workout clears my mind and keeps me from screaming at the kids. Once there, I set up my stuff. I looked around. I was surrounded by warning signs. Everyone else in the class was pulling out significantly heavier weights than I. Everyone else in the class look like they just walked out of the Title 9 catalogue. Then the flashing disaster ahead light started blinking; the instructor came in looking her usual determined self along (now siren blaring) with three other trainers from the gym. I may not be consistent in my gym participation, but there is one thing I know; instructors have egos along with great abs. The instructor is going to try and drive the participating trainers into the ground. And as a class participant, a weak one at that, there is little hope left.

The warm up was good, then the squats began. Suddenly lightening struck! There in front of me stood the embodiment of Motherhood; Glorious, Fabulous, Motherhood.

Motherhood is not low waist pants in the gym. It is not a perfectly placed pony tail. Motherhood is a well toned upper body with defined shoulders and biceps from many repetitions of picking up toddlers. Not three sets of twenty reps dumbbell lifts. But a torso that can handle daily non-stop lifting of squirming bodies which requires immense upper body strength, balance and nerves of steel. The strength of the shoulder line almost, but not quite, stops one from noticing the triceps that scream, "over 40 and heading south".

There before me we were thighs that bulge during a squat. Thighs that squat too many times a day for toys, for clothes, for the odd Cheerio. Thighs that can run after a loose toddler on a tricycle attempting an unaccompanied escape to the park. Knees that sing along with the music, literally, offering the sound effects of clicking and clacking like a horse on parade. Calves that know heels, flats and how to run through the sprinklers bare foot. Saddle bags that have moved so far south they look like balloons trying to lift the knees.

When we hit the mats, flat on our backs, with feet in the air, I pretend to touch my toes. I saw what had been. The sculpted legs. Legs that haven't seen a skirt since I realized that if I wore a skirt the boys used me as a mobile snot rag. On my back, I found a stomach that could lie flat. In the upright position this same stomach is a stretchable toy. But the glory of those legs and tummy were only a fleeting thoughts as there was also the realization that my breast were sliding into my arm pits. Upon sitting up I noticed the girls may be willing to come out of the armpits for flight, but they are staying at a lower altitude than I remember.

As class ended, I awoke from my own world of introspection to see I was covered in sweat. But I also I felt great. I know I can lift small bodies, climb trees and am the vision of female super hero worship in my household. Let's just say I leaped over the ravaged bodies of the visiting trainers on my exit. I felt empowered by the embodiment of Motherhood, that just isn't that bad!

Hello Cupcake!

As I squatted, with both hand holding dumbbells, looking into the mirror, I thought, "Fuck you, cupcake!" Maybe I ate just one too many this weekend?

The spaghetti and meatball cupcakes were for my family birthday celebration. The boys loved the concept and told daddy we were having "dinner". The butterflies were for a friend's birthday party on Sunday morning. DS1 helped me with the wings, although for sake of my sanity, the actual assembly was after he was in bed.

Trying to make designer cupcakes is interesting. Like so many things in life (including the gym), I loose my rhythm/skill when I don't practice regularly. For instance, the green bodies on the butterflies. Yeah, that was supposed to be brown, but my food coloring skills were off; way, way off.

I'm back at the gym for the first time since November. Yeah, I'm sore, four months off is plenty of time for the muscles to lose their tone. But it feels good to get back, and mentally/emotionally, it needs to happen. I missed it.

However, I forgot, when you walk in the class and everyone looks awesome = you are in for a wicked work out! There is a pregnant lady in the first row that I find motivating. She is due in May, and she's still doing more than me. To defend myself, I'm not totally terrible, its just the people in this class are clearly in their groove!

Today in the midst of 30 knee lifts for each leg, I started hyperventilating. At first I thought maybe the lights are dimming. Then I realized it was me. I sat on my bench and kept up with the arm work for a few minutes. I felt pathetic, I looked red. The teacher smiled at me, but didn't come over or say anything. After a song, that is how I measure the torture of working out - can I make it through one more song? - I felt better and got back to my feet. Tell you what, it was worth it. I'm feeling motivated. I want to run with the boys on the playground this summer.

P.S. The cupcake designs are from a book, "Hello, Cupcake!" but also just search for ideas on the internet and you'll find thousands.