I've been having an ugly week. I'm feeling pale and dumpy and flabby. I'm annoyed with myself for the way I've been eating. I obsess about making really healthy meals for us, then I go and snack on bad stuff in between. Like yesterday I ate super healthy stuff all day, and then last night before we put a movie in, Steve convinced me to run to the gas station to get snacks. I could have refused all together, or just gotten something for him, but no, I had to get myself some Chili Cheese Fritos and cappucino as well. (Which, by the way, left me with a case of The World's Most Horrendous Knock-You-Off-Your-Feet Breath.)
In order to feel a little better about myself, today I decided to try working out at the community center again. The last time I unsuccessfully tried to leave Emma in the tot drop was about five months ago. All the way there this morning I was telling her about the fun she was going to have playing with toys and kids. She was really excited until I handed her over to the lady and started to explain that I would be back. She looked a little concerned, but they walked off towards the toys and I left, crossing my fingers that she would be happy there. I decided to try one of the treadmillls first. Being unfamiliar with the settings, I put it on some sort of cardio workout at a speed that sounded good to me, all for 30 mintes. Good Lord. I must have unknowingly set it on "Only For People Who Run Three Marathons Every Week". After two minutes, I was certain I was going collapse and roll off the back, where I would lay in a motionless heap, except for my poor heart still trying to hammer itself through my chest. I was determined to finish my 30 minutes, however, so I kept on. I was concentrating so hard on not dying that I almost didn't hear the announcement over the speakers asking Sarah to please return to the tot drop. So after eight minutes of practically sprinting up a mountain, I had to quit and go rescue Emma. When I got there she was a sobbing, shuddering mess. I felt terrible for her, but also sad that I wasn't going to be able to work out. Ever, apparently. I tried to go in and play with her, but she just clung to me, whimpering, "home...home...home". I'd like to try it again soon so on the way home I talked excitedly about the fun she had there. She must have fallen for it, because by the time we were home, she was asking, "Play? Kids? Toys?" I guess next week we'll try it again and maybe then I'll be able to work out for ten minutes instead of eight. Baby steps, baby steps.