In an effort to lose the last of my baby sponginess, I joined a gym. And not just any gym. I joined a fancy, expensive, every-amenity-you-can-think-of-plus-some gym. And I love it. Once the kids settled into going to the childcare (which is state of the art, even if it’s understaffed), I have settled into a (sort of) routine. My goal is to work out three times a week. I must admit I haven’t made that goal yet, but I am getting there twice a week regularly. And in this house, that’s a victory.
As I look around at the other women at the
middle class country club gym, I marvel at all the different bodies. And I admire the visible signs of hard work. These women have smallish children, same as me. I’ve seen them dropping them off at childcare. And they all look so strong. As I compare myself in class, they can do more reps with their weights, do more squats, and hold their planks a little longer. Their legs don’t shake when they do lunges. It’s very humbling. It’s also very motivating.
I can’t wait to be that strong.