My life has spiraled around sicks kids this week. It was a like merry-go-round of snot. Yesterday was a ping-pong match of ear infection symptoms between kids and phone calls to the advice nurse.
Just another day in the Luxury of Motherhood.
And I missed my work-outs.
Outside of wanting my kids to be healthy for the basic reason that healthy kids are clearly desired over un-healthy kids (and all the reasons that support that mini-list), my cardio addiction was starved.
My plan to wake up and get in a mini-run before my day was foiled by late night phone calls, texts about the Princess Chicken to the cries of discomfort from Baby Chicken. Waking up at 3:45 is nearly impossible when sleep isn’t invited to abut 3:35.
Therefore, in a somewhat futile attempt to not miss my dear gym time, I keep telling myself that this week is a “recovery week.”
You know, a low-key work-out week that invites ‘recovery’ -
so next weekend when I (please-oh-please hopefully) return to my regularly scheduled gym time, I can run faster and farther…and look even better doing it.
Granted, I’m not so sure I really ‘needed’ a recovery week. But it makes my brain, running on a clear deficiency of adrenaline and endorphins, feel better.
Another mission complete, thanks to self-talk, right?
A little bit of Word Crafting to make my brain happy.
It’s all about perceptions of reality.
I officially have re-created my world.
Missed Gym = Recovery.
Ahhhhhhh.
Recovery.
Just what I needed,
I’m feeling refreshed already.
