Sweating my Pants Off

Over the weekend, when there was a large garbage dumpster sitting in our drive way getting filled up with stuff from our garage, the next door neighbours and two other households across the street, and that’s how I came to be in possession of one elliptical trainer which is now set up in the garage.
The neighbours across the street were about to throw it into the dumpster when Ceilidh saw it and squealed at them “Wait! Don’t throw it out! My Mom wants one of those so bad!” and she ran into the garage to get me.

I looked at the dusty, sky blue piece of about to be discarded exercise equipment and I was filled with as much happiness as a 16-year-old debutante getting her first kiss.
I would have been on that sucker yesterday except for the fact that the night before I wasn’t able to sleep and tossed and turned until around 2:00am and I had to get up out of bed at 5:30am to get Dev out the door for his Summer camp, which ends this Friday.   Add to the fact that I worked until I felt like I was about to drop on Saturday and Sunday, well I can’t even remember what I did on Sunday.  But I never really slept that great this weekend, which is why yesterday I was like a zombie.
Last night I slept better and that’s why this morning as soon as Dev was loaded onto that bus for Camp, Mama was out that door and in the garage, sweating off my pants on that elliptical trainer.  It’s not the best machine but it’s perfect for the price.  I pushed myself to use that sucker for 25 minutes, at which point my limbs were starting to feel like Jell-O so I decided that was enough for today.  I’ll see if I can do it for longer tomorrow.

One of the best things about me having this elliptical trainer is now when I start to get stressed and frustrated, I can just go, jump on my machine, crank the tunes and work my ass off until all those feelings are muted and I can get on with life once again.


About katastrophes1

Kat is a 20 something girl stuck in a 40 something body. Mom to 3 kids, tormented and amused by 3 crazy dogs. Amateur photographer, self taught crochet junkie. Thinker of crazy thoughts. Where do they come from? Who knows where thoughts occur, they just happen!
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