Woman Cannot Live by Shred Alone: Cardio Kick to the Rescue

I’ve been doing Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred workouts 1-3 times a week for a year now. How the hell did that happen? The same DVD for a year? And can my baby be a toddler already? Yes. And yes.

Anyhew. In addition to the random run outside, I cycle through the three levels of Jillian’s workouts, and I can do almost all of the advanced moves without taking the easy way out. I don’t sweat buckets and I don’t curse at Jillian anymore. I’m staying fit, but I’m not losing weight. (Could be due to all that eating, ya know?)

Enter: boredom. Clearly, it’s been high time to shake the routine up a bit for a while.

Many, many moons ago, the folks at Acacia sent me a handful of DVDs to try when they discovered I’m a big fan of yoga goddess Shiva Rea, whom they also represent.  [NOTE: I was not paid by Acacia for this review although I did receive a free DVD to consider and write about if I wished to do so.]

Turns out it’s not only Shiva Rea’s DVDs that have the most excellent option of workout customization; Acacia specializes in this cool function, which allows the user to create a “workout matrix” from any DVD and choose some or all of the workout sections in any order s/he wishes. I LOVE this.

So when I’m sick and tired of Jillian yelling and threatning me, I now turn to the charming Brit, Vivian Zaki and her Weight Loss Cardio Kick workout. She’s much more polite than Jillian, but just as motivating. You can do this, yes?

I have gone through the entire 50 minute workout twice, and have also created my own matrix two or three times  for a 30 minute workout consisting of the aerobic-focused OR strength-focused 20-minute component sandwiched between warmup and cooldown. Again, the flexibility of this is great when I’m crunched for time. Plus, it keeps boredom away.

Don’t be afraid of kickboxing if you’ve never tried it. I’ve never taken a kickboxing class, but I was a devotee of a certain Billy Blanks workout for several years (until the tape player literally ate the tape and I cried for weeks). Violet has two gals accompanying her during this workout, and one of them performs very low kicks, etc. in case you are new to the sport. The first few times I used the DVD I followed this woman during several of the more advanced moves.

You’ll also  need light hand weights for some of the moves, but because I only own 5lb weights, I can’t really use them for some of the fast-paced stuff. It’s okay; the workout still does its job and I’m good and sweaty at the end. On the whole, this DVD is more aerobic than weight-based, which is a nice switch-up from Shred. There aren’t any pushups or exhausting shoulder moves. It keeps you moving with quick, light motions instead.

To sum it up, this workout isn’t as soul-crushing and punishing as Jillian Michaels, but I think it does the job in its own way. I feel energized and happy afterwards. And isn’t that the point?

Moody

I don’t know if I’ve been on solid ground for year now. Years.

Almost four years ago I began my pregnancy with Pitter. Hello, hormones. Hello happy hormones. My regular old low-level depression took a welcome hiatus during most of those nine months, and I really enjoyed how even-keeled I felt (so did Sweet Cheeks).

Labor, recovery, and the roller coaster of breastfeeding and sleepless nights (or The World as I Now Know It) sucked the happiness right out of me. As did moving from Boston to Indy. Ahem. There was a stretch of therapy in there, as some of you might recall.

Eighteen months after I had Pitter, I was pregnant with Patter, and still breastfeeding. The hormones were less kind this time. I felt better than I did before therapy, but probably no better than back to my low-level depression. Hey, better than the depths of despair, right? Mostly I was tired. Deliriously tired.

Along came Patter, and since his delivery was so empowering and enthralling, I had a less difficult time for the first few months of his life. Oh, but my hormones were still the requisite mess.

And now, still breastfeeding 14 months into Patter’s life, I am still on a hormonal roller coaster. I feel like I’ve re-entered my teenage years where I am UNNATURALLY ENTHRALLED with the sexiness of certain vampires in True Blood and also able to cry at THE DROP OF A HAT when Marines are blown up in Iraq or some poor girl’s murdered remains from 50 years ago are finally identified.

I ate my way through October. It’s a lovely month, all oranges and swirling blue skies. And yet I’d like to not repeat it in November. So what do I need? More lightbox? Any lightbox? More exercise, probably. More kindness to myself. But it is so hard for me with the literal winter darkness descending upon us. In October it begins its slow creep into my pores until it seems that every last bit of the regular me is snuffed out. The “regular me.” Ha. Whatever that means anymore.

How do you deal with the hormonal curves/seasonal waves in your life? How do you remember the light is always there, even if it’s dancing electric in the distance behind you, just beyond reach?

And you thought waiting 3 weeks for a blog post from me was annoying

(Dear Diary)

March 22, 1987

Hi! You haven’t heard from me in a year! Unbelievable! I hate writing “beginner” entries, because they are so akward [sic], and I know that in a year or two, Shana and I will be rolling on the floor over them.

It is embarassing [sic], knowing that what you deeply feel at the present will be a huge joke in a year.

Well, I guess I’d better get started introducing myself…again!

I’m in the 7th grade, my crushes are…

Mark M. 8th grade

Kevin K. 8th grade

Andrew B. 8th grade–[And yet I married a slightly younger man. Shows you never know, eh?]

If any of them ask me out, or show the slightest bit of interest, you will certainly be informed.

President Reagan and his IRAN SCANDAL have been exposed for about 3 months, and he is forgiven (you might say). [Har]

My birthday is on Wednesday, I’ll be 13! I got my ears pierced on the 7th–MARCH 7, 1987! [Mark that one down in the history books, folks.]

OKLAHOMA is the school play this year and of course I’m in the Ensemble. It’s on the 26th and 27th! [And a review was written up in the New York Times Arts Section later in the month, of course.]

My favorites (currently)

Movies:

Some Kind of Wonderfull [sic]

Breakfast Club

16 Candels [sic]

Pretty in Pink

Stand By Me (I’ve never seen it!) [Uh, what?]

Tapes: [Ha!]

BANGLES

Stand By Me

CATS [No comment.]

Well, now I’ve got to go now…

I have to study for my Social Studies Quarterly tomorrow on U.S. Territorial Expansion.

Woopeeeeeeeeee! [This was sarcasm. In case you missed it.]

Introducing the Pageant Mother and Her Brat

Spiderman and his sidekick

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We went to a Fall Festival this weekend, where I temporarily lost my mind and entered Patter in a 2-and-younger costume contest. Earlier in the afternoon everyone–and I mean everyone–we walked past commented on how SO CUTE SO ADORABLE OH LOOK AT THAT LITTLE SPIDER he was. It got to my head, I suppose.

Although none of the other five contestants wore hand-made outfits either, I felt like a bit of a fraud entering a contest with a store bought costume, since my own mother was crafty enough to crochet Raggedy-Ann yarn wigs for me back in the day. Store-bought costumes should be illegal in these contests, don’t you think?

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Caught in a web

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As I stood on the park’s gazebo and shared Patter’s name and age with the small crowd via microphone, I wondered what the hell had gotten into me. Patter was clearly too young to even know what was going on, too young to care about the prizes. Plus, Miss Teen Indiana and her fabulous entourage were judging the contest. I had entered my kid in a cuteness contest, which is one step away from a beauty contest.

And…we lost to a newborn in a fluffy kitten contest, a princess, and a dog (who had pushed Patter down on a climber a mere 20 minutes earlier). We did not even place as a runner up! Slightly shocked–I mean, he was clearly just as cute a baby, as the others, right?!–I did my best to squash my newfound-inner-pageant-mom disappointment and made my way off the gazebo.

Then Patter, who had not seemed to care an iota about the whole damn thing, let out a holy shriek and writhed his way out of my arms. He scuttled around behind the winners and found a small pail of signed Miss Indiana photos nestled against against a pillar. And then–I kid you not–Patter grabbed as many of the pictures as he could and started ripping them and tossing them about.

Seems a certain spider didn’t appreciate losing after all.

Composure regained

Empty House

I pull into the garage after half an hour of  driving. Patter is fast asleep in his car seat. In the rearview mirror I see Pitter’s stubborn stare. He falls asleep about half  the time these days.

And it’s not his fault that there is a snake of frustration, exhaustion, and unhappiness coiled in my chest. It’s not his fault that I am suddenly crying, my head pressed against the filthy steering wheel.

But he says, “Mommy. You need to take a breath.”

And I do.

And he says, “Mommy, it will be okay.”

And I say, “Thank you, Pitter.”

And I tell him he’s right.

Lately I haven’t been feeling at home in my skin or here or anywhere. But also maybe I’ve been processing, even though I’m not writing, and that I may be close to spitting the snake out. Like maybe I’m transforming into another me altogether.

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Somebody’s at the door

I don’t even live here anymore