Happy New Year

Each year, around the beginning of the year, I make a small, subtle change or two to my life. I don't consciously think of these changes as new year's resolutions. They are just improvements, and I happen to date stamp these improvements since they begin with the new year. The improvements are usually casual, announced to no one in particular, and put in place as I see fit, so I generally am highly successful in implementation. A while ago I put in place our household recycling and compost systems. Last year I vowed to replace the nonstick pan with a cast iron skillet and to hang dry most of our laundry. These were easy.

This year I decided I wanted to explore bread making with our food processor. This one turns out to be easy as well, and the thought of toast made from freshly baked bread is often the motivation to get me out of bed in the morning.

However, the second part to my life improvement this year turns out to not be so easy: I vowed to begin exercising regularly.

This is a funny one for me, because I often walk and bike miles each day in transportation, and this time of year I pass my free time digging dirt. But you know, these activities do nothing for butt jiggle.

Our bodies are truly amazing in their ability to transform and yet reshape. In the past eight years I gained and lost over 150 pounds with my three pregnancies. I can announce this now that I am sure that the baby weight does go away. I am lucky that the old adage about nine months on, nine months off works for me. But I still fantasize about my pre-pregnancy body - strong, lithe, defined, and lifted. And after the first two pregnancies, I still retained hope that I might dance again. And so I tried to stretch and do a few plies every few days. Every now and then I would leap around the backyard. I even went to a few dance classes. And so I deluded myself into believing I had to stay somewhat in shape - just in case I might ever perform again.

After bearing Matilda, three children put me over the cliff. I have certainly lost hope that I will ever perform again and most days I wonder if I will ever even take a dance class again. Hope. Without hope, why would I bother to maintain?

I am always inspired by others.

My Mom has been preparing hard for her sixtieth birthday half marathon challenge this year. It's next week. I remember when I was a kid and she was thirty or so and took up jogging, and I thought, "What a youthful mother I have that she can still run at her age!" Now she is twice that in age, and she is again running circles around me.

And then a couple days ago I read on the blog of a friend of a friend (http://www.onecraftymother.com/2010/04/waiting-to-care.html) about her weight loss goals. And I realized, it is time. It is time to dig up the HOPE and dust it off.

I am probably an exercise addict that has been suffering withdrawal symptoms for the past three years. I sure am a lot happier when my muscles are well-used and stiff, and blood has been pumping throughout my body. Why can I not make the time for this - time for myself?

And so for the past two days I have done it. Just baby steps. A little rope jumping. A few push-ups. A short jog. Some dangling on the monkey bars. Will I manage to keep this up?

Marek asked me today, "Here Mom. Would you like some superpower?" And he dabbed something sticky on my palm.

"Would I ever, Marek! Please slather me in superpower!"