Over the years I have been suckered into a multitude of fitness crazes. I Jazzercised with my mom in my pre-teens, was a weight jock in high school, and found yoga after college. I can say that it wasn't until I had my 1st child that I began the same battle I think most moms face....(with a loud, booming announcer voice) The battle of the post baby pounds. DUM DUM DUM.
Let's start with the multitude of fad diets shall we. There was the grapefruit diet (too sour), the cabbage soup diet (too gassy), the blood type diet (too limiting), the Southbeach diet (too much like atkins), Atkins (not for a carboholics like me), YOU on a Diet (Really Dr.OZ, a balanced diet and consistent exercise plan will get me to my goal? Gosh I didn't know that?!), and finally the Abs diet. Which was the success that brought me to the fitness demise we are here to discuss.
The Abs diet turned out to work very well for me and after completing the 2-weeks of diet alone that is recommended I had lost 8lbs and was anxious to jump on the exercise band wagon to skyrocket my weight loss, build lean muscle and finally look like those ladies on the cover of Maxim. Since I already had a multitude of workout videos and embarrassing gadgets that had obviously failed me in the past, I decided something new was in order. I visited my local SUPER Target and descended upon the fitness isle. Of all the things I've tried, resistance bands was never one. Well there's my problem, of all my frivolous fitness purchases like gym memberships and free weights, I had somehow overlooked these simple yet effective tools. Easily carried when I travel (cause a stay at home mom to 3 under 5 travels so much), ready for me to use anywhere, and obviously so fun to use that I'll be donning a string bikini in less than 6 weeks! SOLD!
The following day I was so anxious to try out my new tools I allowed the children additional cartoon time, snuck away to my bedroom outfitted in my best fitness attire (cutoff sweats, built-in bra workout tank, ankle socks, and smelly tennis shoes), completely prepared to work my butt off. The brilliant apparatus connected simply to the top of the door, of which I locked to cautiously avoid a child slamming me with it while I was becoming Carmen Electra. I smartly attached the instruction sheet to the door so I could move smoothly through the routine. After finishing all moves that had me facing the door, I turned my back to give my shoulders and pecks a go with a move that involved me pulling the cords over my head with arms extended up. 3, 4, 5... feeling the burn..... WHAP! I was suddenly propelled forward, off my feet, onto my face and into a yellow metal dump truck my son used to haul around action figures. I rolled to my back and made friends with the birdies circling my head. I gently gathered them up, put them back in their cage and went to inspect who or what had sabotaged my effective workout. It appeared the black bungee cords had come unattached from the door. I carefully clipped them back into their attachment, pulled them in all directions to check for safety and was rewarded by a slap in the face as they dislodged from their holster yet again! Stupid piece of crap is defective! I will return this promptly and use that fine money to have Ben and Jerry over to sooth my bruised ego and cheek.
I retreated to the bathroom to check that cheek and was shocked at what I found. But not on my cheek, I had been so flustered by my whack in the back of the head and involved with finding out the cause, I had neglected to check the head wound incurred on that dump truck. I had apparently taken the header at just the right angle to clip the corner of the bed of the truck and it broke the skin, just barely. But it was enough to brand me with a small scarlet letter of fitness woe, a one inch "L" dead center of my forehead. How on earth would I return a defective piece of fitness equipment with a very obvious Loser stamp staring out at the world. I promptly cut myself bangs, which have never flattered me, threw those rubber bands in the dumpster with my hair trimmings, and concocted a story of sheer klutziness to share with friends and family. (You see I was working out with my rubber bands stretched over a door, when they came loose, smacked me in the back of the head, sending me off my feet and flying 10 feet into a yellow metal dump truck. No thank- you. Better to say I tripped over scattered toys and took a header into said truck.) It took 6 months and an entire tube of Mederma for me to finally grow those bangs out without the world knowing my pain.
I have a vault of fitness woes and still the same, or quiet possibly they are new found, 15lbs tagging along with me. I can't say the Wii will get me any closure to resembling Eva Longoria Parker, that would take a change in race and act of God, but the kids, hubby and I will surely have a blast at it. And if at some point that Wii, or any activity related to playing that Wii, is to brand me, I promise to wear it with pride and hell, even blog about it. Pictures included.