- Mommy, that girl is beating you.
- Let’s pretend we’re yellow jackets and sting the people we don’t know. Bzzzt! I stung that guy!
- We’re lost.
- Why are you going so slow?
- Mommy, I have to poop really bad.
Here’s how my internal monologue went:
Oh, we have to bring all that clean laundry back to Nora’s class on Monday, and we are flower fairies for this week, too. It’s going to be tough to carry all that on the bus. Maybe we can drive.
But wait, Ben has an appointment with the chiropractor in the afternoon and needs the car becuase the truck won’t start. I really don’t want to get home so late if we wait for him to pick us up and I really don’t want to take the bus home because we won’t get home til after six if we do that.
I know, I can bike! I can put Nora and all the laundry and the flowers in the trailer instead of schlepping them on the bus and then we’ll be able to get home faster and I’ll build exercise into my day!
It’s about nine miles from home to Nora’s school. Most of it is on beautiful riverfront bike trail. The last mile and a half is uphill pulling a 20 pound trailer, 30 pound child and 5 pounds of laundry and a ten pound backpack. I’d forgotten about the uphill part.
Anyway, we made it. Another parent from Nora’s school who watched me on the last hill actually applauded when we got there. Red-faced and sweaty, I smiled.
But now I’m sitting at my desk at work on a break. My feet are still cold. I want a nap. And in just six short hours I get to do it all over again.
At least it gave me a justification for eating pizza for breakfast.
I can barely walk this morning. I can feel every muscle in my legs and and arms. I want to bathe in Icy-Hot. I did seventy-eight burpees yesterday. What is a burpee? You start in a squat position and jump back to a plank, then do a push up, jump your feet back to your hands, then jump in the air and clap. Repeat. I am in fitness bootcamp. My trainer is mean. And she has a killer butt. I want one.
I eat a like a squirrel, combining small amounts of carb, fat and protein every three hours. A snack is half an apple, an ounce of cheese and a few nuts.
Why am I doing this? The long answer is this: if I don’t I’ll be diabetic. I was diagnosed with borderline type II diabetes last June. I control my blood sugar with diet and exercise. Both my grandmother and mother are diabetic. I had gestational diabetes when I was pregnant with Nora. I was warned that it was something I would have to watch for in my forties and fifties. Then I had an extremely stressful period where I was working about seventy hours a week and caring for my child and household. My body broke. I stressed myself to the point of diabetes. I got it at thirty-three instead of fifty-three.
I could take medicine to control my blood glucose level, but I know grind of everyday life would provide me with excuses for not eating right and exercising. I would have a crutch. So, I get on the treadmill and run two miles as fast as I can (which is not terribly fast).