1/2 the Woman I Used to Be

32 is not 16.
At 16 I was much stronger physically than I am at 32. I suspected this... ok I knew this... but I confirmed it today when I decided to embark on a VHS excursion of the NYC Ballet Workout. But let me start at the beginning...

I have never claimed to be an athlete. Other than a brief career in 6th grade basketball at Bennett school (brief because I played one game before breaking my foot at my friend's house and being relegated to the bench for the season) and a few races in 5th and 6th grade track (which I WON, thank you very much), I never played organized sports. I was a little too girly for all that ball throwing and sprint running. And, mostly, I was afraid of getting my nose broken by a ball or elbow to the face.

HOWEVER, ... however..., I started dance class after 2nd grade and seemed to take to it alright. If I do say so myself, and I think I am about to, I turned out to be a kick-ass dancer. I spent several years practicing, donned tutus and pointe shoes, and took the show on the road a few times with my gals at the Mattoon Academy of Dance. In Junior High and High School, I had an illustrious career on the pom pon squads and had some of the best high kicks in the line-up. And I had muscle.

But alas, that was 1/2 my life ago, and since then I haven't exactly kept up with the dance class or pom pon practicing. (BTW, I'm not so old that I had to use the big huge, fluffy poms with the skinny plastic... we at least had the smaller ones! But we did wear lots of ugly sweaters and pleated skirts. *sigh*) In my early twenties I did manage to exercise here and there and did plenty of Tae Bo so that I could have easily kicked an assailant in the head. But, let's face it, since the kids came along, fitness has fallen by the wayside. I took a semester of yoga at the Yoga Institue in Urbana (where the teachers actually train in India) when Maia was about 2 and it nearly killed me. I felt like I had a major flu the day after every single class. I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing, but this was like Nazi Yoga and even my toe joints would hurt afterwards ("PRESS PRESS PRESS PRESS AND SPREAD YOUR TOES! LENGTHEN!") So, no more yoga for me, thanks.

After the yoga experience, I think I stuck to walking with the stroller as my main form of exercise. And then came Nate who would not sit in the stroller long enough for me to break a sweat. And then came working full-time on top of having two little kids. I think some of you can relate to this: fitness=low on the priority list. I find myself sitting at the computer at the library WAY too much and, now, at age 32, my dancing muscle has atrophied. I feel like I'm stuck in a mom-body, and it scares me. And, yes, I know that I'm not overweight or anything... don't even go there with me... but I have gained enough that my clothes don't fit and I think we can agree that a whole new wardrobe just ain't in the budget. Besides that, I have a family history of arthritis and cancer and all kinds of other stuff that isn't going to be pretty. Already my cholesterol is high and my ankle hurts all the time. Exercising is one of the best ways to stay healthy, and I need to do this for my children as much as for myself.

So, while perusing the DVD and VHS offerings of exercise videos available through the library system, I ran across this NYC Ballet Workout video. It says "Stretches and Exercises that ANYONE can do..." and, well, with the ballet background still there at least in my brain, I figured I could give this a try. I need something low impact due to my back being messed up from a seizure in '96, so this sounded like just the thing. And I tried it this morning. And I already hurt.

I only did 20 out of the 60 minutes, too, knowing that I needed to start slowly and not over-do it. But I am no match for these completely sculpted ballet guys they have on the video. Seriously, they have six packs and the most muscular legs you have ever seen. When they say "anyone" can do these exercises, I think they mean any super- strong gay man at the NYC Ballet. I think perhaps they have lost perspective there on the average American's graceful abilities. I may need the heating pad on my ass by the time I get ready for work. And I should probably have lined up an immediate chiropractic appointment.

If you have any advice for a wimpy 32-year-old trying to re-gain some muscle, let me know. Otherwise, I'm going to go ahead and sign up for 2027 Heart Attacks Anonymous.

V, P, B Day

Where does the time go? (And how old am I that I say things like "where does the time go?") Seriously, though, it's already the middle of February which seems impossible. This time of year brings Valentine's Day and President's Day which means we have one school party and one day out of school. Both kids had to have Valentines for their classmates. Nate had to have cups and plates to contribute to the school junk-food-fest, because loving your friends does literally require cupcakes and sugary juice. Nate also had "homework" that we didn't learn about until last night that is due tomorrow. He is supposed to make a Valentine bag or box to keep his cards in at school for tomorrow. And since I am working tonight, that means that Shad will have to oversee the creation of this bag/box. You might think that since Shad teaches 1st grade that it is not a big deal for him to have to take charge of this type of homework. You would be wrong. I made sure to enlist Maia's help before taking the kids to school this morning. Getting her pumped up about it may be the only way it gets done because Nate isn't usually too keen on his little "homework" assignments. She is planning to print some paper hearts off of the computer to help decorate the bag/box, so that should get them started in the right direction at least. (And I'm not one to question the motives of a teacher, knowing that they do what they can with the little resources they are given.... but isn't the Valentine bag/box a staple project of every preschool curriculum created specifically to take up at least 40 minutes of a cold February morning DURING preschool?? Since when is this task relegated to homework? But what do I know. I'm just a librarian.)

As for President's Day, we have nothing planned for this collective day off work except two dental appointments. Nate has his first cleaning, and Maia has an appointment that I'm trying to pass off as a "check-up" but which is very likely going to turn into the dentist pulling one of her baby teeth. He said that we need to get it out because the tooth coming in behind it doesn't have room, and we've wiggled it to no avail. It simply has no wiggle. It's not comin' out on its own. So, likely he is going to pull it. AND she has a pinpoint cavity in a molar that he is going to fill "without needing to numb her". WTH??? And I'm supposed to send her back there and sit down in the waiting room like it's just a check-up? I'm covertly planning to send Shad. (Ok, not too covertly. I told him about it yesterday. But I did manage to make the appointment during a time when I knew he would be able to take her.) The last visit, for the rotten molar that needed a major filling, was so traumatic that I don't think I can face another one already. That said, I don't know how either of us will manage to get her into the dentist office because she knows that he said he might have to pull her tooth and she's not keen on the idea. I'm just not going to mention it until it's almost time for the appointment. Then I'm going to bribe her heavily with pretty much whatever it takes. This would be a good time for her to ask for her own cell phone or maybe for permission to have a boy/girl party when she's 13, because I will say yes to almost anything to get her to agree to go to this dental appointment without screaming and flailing.

And finally, the middle of February, this terrible black hole of winter, steely cold and drab with its infinite gray sky and barren land, brings my birthday. This used to help bring cheer to the winter and pull me up out of the blahs, but alas the years of being excited about one's birthday have passed me by. Turning 32 means that I've been driving for 1/2 of my life, means that I'm only one year younger than Jesus was at his death, means that I'm closing in on "mid-thirties" and could be cast for a part in "thirtysomething" if it were being cast now instead of 20 years ago... didn't those people seem OLD then??.... It means that I'm no longer sure who all of the music "stars" at the Grammys are, and I find that wearing Birkenstocks make my feet and ankles feel a lot better even if I do look like an old hippy. It means that I've officially given up on growing taller and am now thinking that I should be starting calcium supplements so that I don't end up being 5 feet 1 inch with a hip fracture by the time I'm 50. And being 32 means that I'm finally resigned to the fact that my birthday comes 5 days after Valentine's Day and I will not get a night out for each of these occassions but will have to settle for one night out to celebrate both. Of course, no matter how old you are, your kids always think you are old, so 32 or 27 or 38 is all the same, right?

RIGHT??!!!