The arms are out of control

“Ok,” she says (my BFF), “this is OUT OF CONTROL.”

“What?” I say.

“The arms,” she replies.

I immediately understand. The arms are an issue. One of several that seems to have cropped up, almost overnight, it seems. No, it’s not a complete surprise. I mean, we do like the cookie dough. And the bread and cheese. And we DO like the vino. We like the vino quite a lot actually. And exercise for the both of us might be best described as sporadic…and that also depends on what you define as “exercise”. As working mothers to young children, we mostly get by on a shit and a giggle (to quote a dear friend)…and also vino. Exercise doesn’t really play into this whole scenario much. It actually does as a theory, just not in practice.

I am not signifigantly overweight, nor am I a size 6. I wouldn’t describe myself as “un-athletic”. In fact, in my head, I am actually QUITE athletic, although the regularity in which that actually translates to me moving my body for an extended period of time…well, like I said, there are some issues. Instead of comparing our six packs, we compare who looks more like they are 5 months pregnant (although we’re not). It’s a morbid fascination of sorts. Almost as if our bodies are betraying us –as if childbirth, age, and delight in food shouldn’t have had the results they have had.

We discuss exercise quite often. Mostly we talk about other people we know who exercise regularly, what they do, how great they feel! How awesome they look! How they lost 20 pounds in 2 weeks by running 15 miles a day! We don’t really like all that. It seems like it requires an awful lot of effort. And let’s be perfectly honest. At 6 am, when other people are bounding up to exercise, I am snuggling down into my nice, comfy bed in my nice, quiet house. No WAY am I going to risk waking up the little monsters before I absolutely have to. Plus, I really like staying in bed. I am good at it. In a questionnaire about his mom one time (meant to be sweet and endearing) my son answered the question “What is your mom good at?” with “Sleeping.” I didn’t really appreciate that, since I kill myself all day every day making sure he has the absolute perfect life filled with meaningful activities, home cooked meals, love and laughter. But, whatever. Ungrateful children. In the evening, when the kids are finally in bed, exercise is just about dead last on my list of things I want to do. Having just a little vino is quite a bit higher up on that list.

This does eventually catch up to you. Despite the fact that we don’t exercise regularly and absolutely love having some little treats for ourselves, we also still fully expect to look like we did when we were 18 and getting ready for a night out. It’s secretly a little shocking when a little black dress clings in all the wrong ways. And when this happens, resolutions are made. Strategies are discussed. Inspirational phrases and motivational stories dusted off and flung about in confident tones.

I did once exercise for several months in a row. I started running (running/walking) with a neighbor, who had once run a marathon. She was undeterred by my excuses. She didn’t give me ultimatums, but was very persistent. She had strategies for walking a certain number of minutes, then running, then running faster and faster. I have to admit, I felt great. Really, honestly great. I lost weight. My waist was thin and trim. I was mentally clearer and more alert. And I got appreciative comments, which really is the whole point of it anyway. But, then for whatever reason, I began to make excuses, one of which was that I didn’t want to “over-exercise”. I got that lil gem from my mom, and because my mom always seems to know random things that no one else knows, I took it very seriously and began to scale back on my exercise, not wanting to "over-exercise" which eventually led to me stopping all together.

From time to time one of us will call the other to announce brightly, “I do pilates (yoga/cycling/walking) now!”

“Really?” the other will ask.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I did it once last week and so, ya know, I think that means that I can say I do pilates (yoga/cycling/walking) now.”

We have spent years discussing whether exercise is actually really the answer that so many people swear it is. There is always the latest book/theory/strategy for exercising, which all mainly boils down to, you have to actually do something physical and keep doing it for longer than a week. We have had a lot of doubts about this. Besides a few blips on the screen, neither one of us have been athletes or athletic, so to speak, for any long period of time in our lives. So this remains largely an untested theory in our personal lives.

And so now we have come to a crossroads. It seems that this is a crossroads that many people, especially moms, seem to reach at some point. Do we actually get serious and make exercise an honest to goodness part of our lives, for the sake of health, self-confidence and vanity, or do we continue on the way we are and really just hope for the best, all the while complaining that we're fat and feel unattractive? And so this little project is born. Commit to trying exercise. Regularly. For an extended period of time. And see what all the fuss is about.

I called my BFF with great excitement to pitch the project. “Let’s exercise at least 15 minutes a day and blog about it!”

Awkward silence.

“Ummm…wow. 15 minutes. What about 5 minutes a day?!” she asked hopefully.

And so here it is. We are beginning with doing something that can be qualified as exercise for a minimum of 5 minutes a day. For 1 year. And we’re going to write about it.