The Garage Of My Dreams

Ideally, my favorite place to sweatitout is outdoors, just me and my Ghosts and my iPod.  Hours melt away and my head gets clear and I see a glimmer of just how far I’ve come in my training.  But what about those days I can’t, for various reasons (children, weather, children, time, children), get out of the house?  Sadly, for now I am stuck in my living room, alongside a defunct treadmill (which I must remember to call about), a dilapidated card table serving as my computer desk, a pack-n-play filled with toddler distractions, and a recliner (the last remnant of our actual living room furniture).  It is, to put it mildly, not the most motivational area in which to work out.  I do have a mirror in which I can watch the upper 1/4 of myself complete exercises, and my determined stare is difficult to resist.  But still, I dream of a day when I (meaning: Hubby) turns our stuffed-to-the-gills-with-crap garage into a wide open space of workout mats, weight sets, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors to reflect my perfect form (hey, I have to assume it’s perfect on the bottom 3/4 as well).

I can lose lots of workout minutes browsing Pinterest for home gym ideas.  I love the idea of old lockers for storage and wire baskets for pristine white towels with which to mop my sweat.  I envision a brand new set of Selecttech weights (replacing the mismatched sets purchased piecemeal from WalMart and Target over the years) anticipating my gloved hands.  They rest next to my working treadmill, complete with iFit and Jillian’s voice telling me to “Step it up!”  Of course, I will have motivational posters plastered over every non-mirrored inch of wall space to remind me of what I’m working toward, those well-muscled, glistening bodies of fit persons flexed next to all-caps phrases refuting any and all excuses.  Out my window, I’ll see my Olympic sized swimming pool and running track…Okay, I may have to give those up for a plastic wading pool and the street, but the rest is completely doable! 

Not only would I finally have access to SPACE allowing me to go all out all the time, I would have access to SPACE AWAY FROM THE CHILDREN.  I love them, I really really do…but they have this habit of not needing me until they catch me in the middle of a TurboFire Fire Drill or mid-crunchy Frog during Ab Ripper X.  The rule of “Don’t ask Mommy questions while Mommy is working out unless they relate to your blood flow” never seems to quite sink into their adorable little heads.  They deem Dad unfit for settling fights over who must bathe first (it really doesn’t matter which it is; they always want the opposite) or what the reading assignment is for bedtime (although it never changes).  Nor can Dad tell them where exactly to find their suddenly much desired Silly Putty, charm bracelet, or 3D glasses.  Only Mom can answer these riddles, and apparently, only in the midst of intense exercise.  Moments before I press play, I can say their names 100 times or tell them to complete their chores and receive no answer.  The moment I finish my cool down, they have no use for me.  It seems I am just as appealing to them as I am to myself during those sweaty breathless moments of P90X.  I suppose I can’t really blame them, but still…I yearn for my own private garage-gym, paces away from the chaos of the mini M&M’s.

Right now, I have forced the older boys into cleaning the aftermath of the hurricane that localized in their bedroom; my daughter lies in my bed with a cough and headache, quietly watching Sponge Bob; and the toddler is just about to go down for his own nap.  Whilst I have them all occupied, I plan to quietly slip into some spandex, mix up some E&E, and groove with Shaun T…until they catch me in my illicit activities…


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