Since the appearance of The Great Mystery Pox of 2010 two weeks ago, I've been a total slacker in the exercise department.
During normal weeks, I drop the big kids off in the morning and head to the Y at least one or two mornings a week. I've also discovered that 1 pm at our local Y is a total dead zone; the joint is just about empty and is ever so peacefully quiet. Either time - morning or afternoon - I drop Tom off in the Child Watch center where he happily plays with the toys (different enough from what we have here at home to be exciting) or spends an hour shooting baskets in their little gym.
But given Tom's appearance over the last two weeks - rashy, then blistery, now healing - I've stayed away from the Y. Sure, I could have told them he was well past being contagious and that whatever the virus was, his own brother and sister didn't get it, but who wants to fight that fight? And I as a mom wouldn't be too thrilled to pick my kid up from Child Watch only to see he/she was playing with the kid who is shedding skin like a rattlesnake.
So for the last two weeks, I've not gone running or lifted weights or channeled all my petty frustrations out in Cardio Boxing Boot Camp.
I'm feeling terrible.
I need my exercise, if only to beat myself up enough so that I sleep deep and dreamless. I need it because when I'm running, my legs pumping (albeit not terribly quickly), my mind is free to wander and ponder and dream. I need it because it de-stresses me, it energizes me, and because there's nothing like high-fiving yourself in the mirror after a long run.
So I'm off to bed early, determined to get back into my o'dark-thirty routine of running circles on the blue hamster track at my Y, my cheap-o MP3 player blaring in my ears.
And you know what?
I can't wait!*
*Hmmm....are those sarcastic italics? Or is she genuinely excited about running at five-thirty in the morning?