I went to the gym today. I went planning to do my trainer workout with the dreaded planks and the #$(*&^@!% push-ups and all the other fun stuff, followed by a good long wog (walk/run/jog) on the treadmill.

I had cash for water. I had powered up my iPod.

Good to go. Right? Wrong.

My gym had posted their hours for Labor Day, had posted the fact there would be no classes for Labor Day, but did not post that kids club would be on a shortened schedule. In fact, they hadn’t even decided to close it until today. Talk about short notice.

There were about eight lovely In-Shape staff all standing around the check-in desk, gabbing and having a great time, while four-year old Ringo and I tried not to cry. He was whining and I was damned close to whimpering.

Since it’s 24 miles round trip I wasn’t about to drive back during Ringo’s nap time. So I said I’d just do it at home.

Did I?

No. Talk about anti-empowerment…during exercise time you would not have found me powering through push-ups or marching around my neighborhood.

You would have found me asleep. Under the dining room table!

Is my journey to Becoming Sydney really dependent on a babysitter?

 

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