I am consistently on the hunt for a new fitness class.
When I was younger it was step aerobics, endless hours of grapevines combined with steps and awkward turns. This led to a Latin dance aerobics class where I always stood in the back so as I learned to samba and cha-cha only a few people could see my silly missteps. There were usually brief moments where the music, my hips and my feet all aligned and I was one hot Latin dancer. At the end of class we would do extended stretches, I was able to effortlessly touch my nose to the floor. Those were the days.
I’ve also enjoyed weeks of fitness boot camps. Enjoyed? NOT! Running, jumping, throwing, push-uping, sit-ups…. I’m not sure I ever felt like I looked any different, but I definitely felt different. Sore. Everywhere.
The soreness of boot camp sent me on my way to a more soothing environment – yoga. Instead of constantly being yelled at to move faster and push harder, I had a pretty little lady calmly encouraging me to do my best. I never did respond well to yelling.
My latest attempt at organized fitness was a Zumba class. At heart I think I was meant to be a dancer, it’s just the rest of my body that seems to be confused about my true calling in life. During this fateful hour I realized something, my stamina sucks!
After about thirty minutes of focusing on the upcoming steps and using all my energy to stay with the instructor – things started to break down. I was consistently one step behind the beat, when the teacher would have us turn to the back wall – I ended up facing everyone who seemed to know all the moves. It was at this point that my self-talk began to decline.
“Why can’t you keep up? Did you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror? You look nothing like the instructor. Some of these ladies are twice your age and they can keep up.!”
There were attempts at more positive internal dialogue.
“You can do it. You look fine. It’s just a little longer. It’s ok if you are completely out of step, you’re exercising!”
As my mental stamina began to break down, so did my physical strength. By the end of the hour I was one big puddle.
My Zumba experience has caused me to reflect on the rhythms of my life. During the summer months I get up and go for a quick walk before Mike leaves for work. I typically have between twenty and forty minutes. It could be longer, but who wants to get up to an alarm on vacation. If I get to the gym during the school year I have about forty minutes, if I’m lucky.
It’s not just exercise that requires stamina – writing does too. I am a morning writer. Not surprising, I like to do most everything in the morning. I would be perfectly content with an eight to two (maybe three) o’clock day. If I was a night owl it would make writing so much easier. We could put the children to bed and I would have almost two hours of uninterrupted writing time. But I’m not. After the boys go to bed, I typically crumble onto the couch and spend my remaining waking hours watching fun shows like Design Star.
As I review some of my past Saturday mornings, I see that I do actually have a couple hours to write. The problem is that these hours are chopped up into little bits of time.
“Mom! Can I have breakfast?”
“Boys – stop shouting!!”
“Yes. You can watch cartoons.”
“Time to turn off the TV.”
“Mom! Can you tie my shoes?”…..
You get the idea.
So, I’ve been left wondering – How do I find time to do all the things I want do? Where does the time for building stamina fit into my life?
I’ve been working with first grade writers for about the past month. Every day I enter the classroom and they are all sitting on the tan carpet learning a new writing strategy from their teacher. They can barely contain their excitement. Hands pop up all throughout the lesson, desperate to share their connecting idea. And then, once they have this new nugget of writerly knowledge – they go and write. Book after book. Day after day. Talking with their friends about their writing. Writing and illustrating. Setting writing goals. Every day they practice and refine their skills as writers.
I’m jealous.
I don’t get to go to writing class, for an hour, every day. I don’t have a daily chunk of time to work out. I don’t have a quiet morning routine that allows for a sit down breakfast and time to read and reflect. I don’t have an art studio to go and paint in. I don’t have a standing lunch date with my friends. I don’t have a weekly date night with my husband or a consistent play date time with my children.
I am left instead with the job of finding balance. Snagging time to write, between distractions, on Saturday morning. Heading out for a quick walk with a coworker over the lunch hour. Making a special Sunday evening dinner, after the boys are in bed. Talking with friends, on the phone, as I make my daily commute home from work. Participating in a painting class with a friend. Or playing a spontaneous game of hide-and-seek with the boys.
I’m not sure that these things actually build stamina for any one thing – but they do seem to increase my overall endurance for the reality of life. And so, even though I am still jealous of the little six year olds in first grade, I must concede that balance does bring a bit of spice to my life.
