Exercise Woes

I have to tell you that exercise is not my friend.

It is said that exercise is great for increasing your energy levels, making you “feel better”,  as well as decreasing your stress.

Ah, the “magic pill”. . .that does not, in any of those categories, work for me.

Exercise leaves me feeling insanely exhausted.  At the end of any given workout I feel like death warmed over, and hubby pretty much verifies that is what I look like too.  As for decreasing stress?  Let me just say any time you have something on your daily to-do list that you dread. . .it is a major stress inducer.

Oh, and during any workout (I do exercise videos), the nutty, smiling leader is always talking about all these stupendous benefits while also proclaiming the wonders of “endorphins”.  Let me just say, for me, those little buggers exist on the same mythical playing field as Pegasus.

I think the worst thing is the number of people that state these things as FACT.   Sort of like those who declared for decades, that you know you are having a heart attack if you have pain in your left arm; or the whole “flight or fight” theory.  Course, recently it has been shown that both of those aren’t true for the majority of the population because the studies that came up with that bunk only used male test subjects.

Not that I’m suggesting this exercise hocus-pocus is false, or that it only applies to men.  I am merely stating it does not apply to me; and I’m willing to bet I am not the only one.  Because, it stands to reason, should exercise be as wonderful as exercise gurus claim it to be, we would not be a nation of obese people.

All that said, you will find me up at 0500 nearly every morning for my daily workout.  (I have very low energy levels and they are at their highest in the morning; otherwise, I would try to figure out how to workout at night, as my most favorite thing to do after working out is to go to sleep.)  Also, given the dread I have for working out, I reduce my stress by not being completely awake when I’m prepping to cross  it off my to-do list.

I do not work out for any benefits other than the fact that it does help my clothes fit better and, possibly, because it will keep me healthier.  (I’m not holding my breathe.)

So, it should not surprise you that in the midst of my workouts my thought processes are. . .grumpy?

I do a different workout every day, on a rotating weekly schedule.  This keeps me from getting bored and plateauing.  Just this week I switched to a new, more “difficult” routine.

Wednesday is yoga day.  I think the routine I did yesterday is headed for the trash.  Not only did I have to hear the bunk about all the great benefits I was NOT going to be feeling, but  I had to listen to the dude’s idiocy.

I mean, at one point we are doing breathing exercises.  (And literally, we are sitting in the “ohm” pose — modified criss-cross applesauce, with wrists on your knees and your thumb and middle finger touching in a circle.)

Just to interrupt my own train of thought here:  Why???  What does that pose do for you?  How does holding your fingers in such a way do anything for breathing or relaxing?  I just don’t get it!

Anyway, the guy wants us to think about “absorbing energy”.  And to help us do this we are to “visualize a sun or a star above your head”.

What?  Does the man not know that a sun is a star?  I mean if he doesn’t that could explain a lot.  Wait a second!  What if he thinks WE don’t know that the sun is a star?  (offense taken)  And, that retard, if the sun and / or star was above my head I’d have “absorbed so much energy” I’d be burnt to non-existence.  Like that will do me a fat lot of good.

You know, I thought of one other benefit I gain from these terrible torture sessions.  Normally, my natural aggressions are completely expelled by the end of the workouts so that my family doesn’t have to deal with such a cantankerous me.  I would suppose there is a great blessing in that.

Briar

Normally, during the summer, our yard is teaming with rabbits.  It has been a rare year if we see less than 5 on any given evening.

This year has been a very rare year indeed.  In fact, I’ve only seen one.

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And, it has been rather fond of sitting under the blackberry bushes.  So, I named it “Briar”.  (Seemed like a rather good unisex name at the time.)\

Now the blackberries are rather close to the garden but Briar has been rather polite about the whole garden thing, and seems to have a decided preference for weeds.  (Go figure.)  So, Briar is given a fair amount of leeway when it comes to finding “it” in the garden.

(Unlike the stupid squirrel, who seemed to take great delight in taking a bite out of every strawberry it saw this year.)

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It is still a little disconcerting to go out there sometimes and realize that feeling of being intently watched. . .

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 . . . isn’t merely a feeling.

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Someone likes to keep their eye on you when you are messing around in the garden.

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It has been determined that Briar is a girl.  And her little babes are right in the middle of the cucumber patch.

 

Playing Favorites

I have favorites.  That’s all there is to it.  And I thought I should ‘fess up to it, in honor of the upcoming Mother’s Day, as it is all my Mom’s fault.  ;)

See, when I was growing up, I was (still am) my Mom’s favorite daughter.  She told me quite frequently, so I knew that it was true.  She also had a favorite son.  Lucky for her, she stopped at two.

So, my Mom had a favorite husband, a favorite daughter, and a favorite son.  Then, her daughter got married, and she had a favorite son-in-law.  All this is working out beautifully.

Then came the first grandchild, my eldest, and he was her favorite (and mine).

And, then came the 2nd grandchild — my second son. . .  And he’s our favorite too.

To make a long story shorter, my Mom is now blessed with one favorite husband, one favorite daughter, one favorite son, one favorite son-in-law, one favorite daughter-in-law, FIVE favorite grandsons, and (almost) TWO favorite granddaughters.  (Almost, as we are awaiting the birth of the second granddaughter.)

So, of course, it would seem only natural that I would have favorites too.  I never saw this as a problem until son #2.  But, in typical Christine fashion, I adapted and overcame.  The child simply became my “favorite 2nd son”.  Then there came the “favorite 3rd son” and the “favorite 4th son”.  This was happily accepted by all parties.  The children never questioned that they were my “favorite”.  It was a known fact, as I told them frequently enough; required adjectives withstanding.  And all was well in my world.

Over the years though, the children have modified their titles, to the point that they sound strangely like some crazy Native American moniker.  Things like, “But Mom, I’m your ‘favorite-son-who-desperately-wants-cookies-right-now’.”  Or, “Mom, just remember I’m your ‘favorite-son-who-did-not-mean-to-spill-milk-all-over-the-floor-but-am-so-grateful-you-are-helping-me-clean-it-up’.”

What is interesting though, is that this favoritism has expanded outside of the family situation.

I was asked if, and which one, was my favorite co-op class last week.

Yes.

I taught 3 classes.  I had 3 favorite classes.  I had 24 students, and each and every one of them was a favorite of mine in some fashion.  And I still have favorite classes / students from previous years.

So, in response to that question, “Yes, your class was my favorite.”  And in response to the question you did not ask, you are totally a favorite student of mine (with quite a few adjectives), who I will always remember fondly.

The Power of Youth

 Today I had not one, but MANY mothers come up to me and thank me for requiring their children to do a personal finance project.

“It has taught [my student] the harsh realities of life.”

*sigh*

And I walked away feeling very deflated.

In all honesty I could not, with any sense of personal integrity due to the nature of this class, avoid doing this project.  That said, it was truly a personal struggle to make it happen, and it was for this very reason that I was so hesitant to require it.

I have been inundated with conversations of late about how hard this teenager is going to have it or that teenager, or those hypothetical few that fall into *that* category.  (Pregnancy, young marriage, medical issues, pick your poison.)

According to all the adults with whom I am forced to suffer these conversations all I hear over and over again is:

“They won’t be able to do it.”

“Oh, don’t expect them to be able to adapt to that change!”

“It’s too hard!”

“What were they thinking?!”

and on and on. . .

My favorite is, “They don’t know what that will require from them.”  At least that one is completely accurate, and God bless them for their ignorance.

The others are a bunch of old-fogey junk!

I mean, “Hello??!!”  Well over 98% of the people I have these conversations with, I know how their adult life started out, and yet they somehow made it.

Because:

Youth is highly adaptable.

Youth is truly optimistic.

Youth has the power of imagination and belief that it can be better.

Youth has the ability to rise again, even if they have been beat down repeatedly.

Why do so many of us with the *wisdom* of age refuse to acknowledge those very simple truths?  Think of the many very young mothers that somehow raised families.  Think of the young men who provided for those families.  Think of Alexander the Great, who died when he was about 30.  What about Civil Rights?  Was it a bunch of old people (or even middle-aged) marching the streets demanding change?

What truly scares me is the number of parents who see everything as an impossibility for their youth making excuses for their offspring.  Or worse, preventing certain things from occurring on the pretext of saving their children from these challenges.

Gosh darn it, CHALLENGE YOUR KIDS!  Provide them with an opportunity to grow.  Let them learn the power of success in spite of change or difficulties.  Let them learn the pain of failure, for it is often through those failures that the most is attained.

I want to scream to teens and young adults alike, “Take chances, make mistakes, get messy!” (courtesy of Ms. Frizzle)

Today I was congratulated on helping the teens in my class get a “grasp on reality”.

To those teens, and all others:

“Reality” will come soon enough.  Until then, reach for your stars.  Make things happen.  Go for the impossible.  Achieve all and more that those who are older than you say is beyond your grasp.

You have the enviable power of youth.  Do not squander it.

My Pal, Insecurity

I’d like to introduce you to a very close friend of mine, Insecurity.  We have a knot that ties us together that is the result of a life-long bond.  Through thick and thin, Insecurity has always been here with me.

My husband has been known to tell me on occasion that Insecurity plays with him also.  This is akin to the puddle saying to the ocean, “Look, we are both bodies of water!”  True, yet so vastly different as to be laughable.

It is interesting, because I am forever telling my children that they need to exude confidence.  Mind you, I don’t tell them they need confidence, just that others need to perceive that they have it.  Personally, I don’t believe that you can “create” confidence where none exists, but I do believe that you can fake it really well.

I also believe it is incredibly important to be able to fake it.  People who appear confident are leaders.  Others will listen, and follow, those that appear confident.  And, regardless of whether or not confidence is a friend of yours, it is easy to fake.

So, I tell my children,

  • “Stand up straight.”
  • “Speak strongly and clearly.”
  • “Look people in the eye.”
  • “Give a firm handshake.”

This list seems overly simple, doesn’t it?  Mmm-hmm.  Take a look at all the leaders you know, and tell me in which of those areas they falter.  And what’s amazing is that they could totally be faking it.

A few years ago a friend of mine gave me a book:

I picked it up to read it shortly after receiving it, but then put it quickly back down.  The thing is, I don’t know that I want to be rid of insecurity; nor, do I necessarily feel that it has been “a bad friend”.  In fact, I would argue that I am a better person because of my insecurities, not in spite of it.

Think about it for a minute.  Because I am fellows with insecurity I question how I do things, I am constantly striving to improve.  I question relationships and whether they will make me stronger.  I question all the whys and hows and wherefores in an effort to excel.  (The trick, I will readily admit, is knowing when to stop.)

Go a step further:  How many “naturally confident” people do you know that need a book entitled, “Lose your confidence, because you have no reason to believe you’re that good.”

I seem to know a number of people like that. . .   Personally, I think they lack something that allows them to feel the insecurity they should.

Anyhoo

Insecurity and I are off to play today.  We are going to try something new and different in our school day and I’m looking forward to seeing how it pans out.  I’ve already picked my pen so I can write notes on how to improve in the margins.

It’s a disease — possibly two of them

I have spent the better portion of my day working on school scheduling.

Based on what I have heard from others they find this task, at best, tedious and irksome.  I don’t feel comfortable saying what they think of it “at worst”.

I, on the other hand, feel an immense sense of joy in the feat.  Mind you, not merely satisfaction, but JOY.

I imagine it much like an artist looking upon their work in a museum, or a composer hearing his piece played within a symphony hall.  Or a young child, having satisfactorily created *something* that they bring in to share with others; to share their joy.

That is the feeling I get upon completing a school schedule.

It’s a sickness, I confess.  And, best of all, I didn’t finish, so I get to work on it again tomorrow!

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Some have been vocally wondering why I haven’t been writing on here as frequently as in times past.

Well, I’ve been having serious issues with that you see, because I’m coming across people who I deal with face-to-face on a fairly regular basis that actually read my blog.  It freaks me out and gives me an anxiety attack like you would not believe!  I mean, what if I accidentally “spill” something, or say something nasty, or rude, or tactless, or. . .

Because I do you know.  You should see my editing process!  I type out a lengthy dissertation, and spill my guts, then go back and say things like, “Oh, someone could take this the wrong way.” (delete)  “This wasn’t worded very nice.” (delete)  “Would someone else see this as questionable?” (delete)

And so it goes, until lo-and-behold I’ve nothing left to post accept my signature.

That, then, leads to all sorts of internal questioning such as, “Is my signature all that I am?”  Which is very depressing indeed.  But, that’s a whole ‘nuther disorder of mine, I’m sure.  I’ll keep that for another day.