I was sick this past weekend, to the point where I simply could not get out of bed on Saturday. So guess who was in charge of the kids? And no, it wasn't the dog. It was Chris.
2pm: Chris comes into the bedroom where I am asleep and delirious with fever. "I don't know what to do with them. They are like crazed monkeys. INSANE. Listen to them!! They aren't even listening to me! I have NO IDEA WHAT TO DO!" Through my achiness I grin. "You know what? I'm glad. GLAD you got to see first hand what I have been telling you for MONTHS. They need SOMETHING to DO."
So we decided as a family (FINALLY!) that it would probably be a good idea to join the local YMCA. It a brand spankin' new facility and it's beautiful and when I walked through the doors I wanted to sing. You know why??
FREE CHILD CARE.
90 minutes max.
90 minutes?? Without my kids?? Per day? Where do I sign up?
I was more than pumped and think I lost 10 pounds just by jumping for joy and doing a celebratory jig around the facility.
I scrutinized the class schedule (I am a class person..I NEED someone to motivate me) and decided that I would kickbox a couple of times a week.
I showed up on Monday after barely having slept (what if the kids act up? What if I can't leave them and they throw fits? What if they throw things?..Basically drove myself CRAZY into the wee hours of the morning). I was fairly confident..I had kickboxed before and I thought I was good at it.
Oh boy. Was I wrong.
These women? Are MACHINES. They look like those people on tv. Doing everything perfectly and looking great doing it.
And there I was in the back (by the fan, thank you) with a beet red, swollen face.
Instructor: "On an exersion level between 1 and 10..You should be at a 10."
MamaInStilettos: "Should I be close to DEATH?"
And yes, I am determined to look as good as these stepford kickboxing women. I WILL not have the instructor asking me if I am ok and then giving me LOW IMPACT moves (yes, it is humiliating). NOPE. I will KICKBOX.
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