I work out. Not as often as I’d like in recent months (Hi, I just had a baby, what do you want from me?) but I do try. Because I like food. And beer. And my sanity.
I am not a pleasant person when I lapse into sloth mode. My patience is down, my irritability is up. I contemplate trading my children for beer and my husband for a Big Mac. Basically, I daydream about dark and quiet rooms filled with alcohol and naps. I slip into depression, which isn’t exactly a motivator, and this vicious circle continues until I snap myself out of it and do some god damn situps.
I’m sure I could “solve all of my problems” by seeking help and a prescription. But drugs are lame when they’re legal, am’I’right?! (Joking, Mom.) So instead of paying for therapy and pharmaceuticals and more therapy, I WORK OUT. Shit’s free, guys. I combine that with an increase in real food, you know – fruits, vegetables, chicken – that kind of stuff, and this generally cures my bloated bummer blues.
Sometimes it’s hard to find the time. Trust me, I get it. I’ve distracted my three month old with a (child proof) bottle of Advil and Yo Gabba Gabba songs on my iPhone just so I can write this blog about not having time to workout and being depressed. I GET IT. But, you know what, someone with less time than you went for a run this morning and probably even managed to brush their hair. So I think I can hold myself accountable, physically and mentally. And so can you. It’s time to make the time. Seems cheaper than a divorce! (Joking, Husband!) What I’m trying to say is…if you’re sad, punch something. Eat a carrot. Run to the mall. I’m betting you’ll feel at least a little better than you were. And if not, buy shit. You’re already at the mall.