After about three months of excuses, I finally found my Answer to my Workout Prayers. Wii Fit and Wii Active? It's great in theory but only works for those who can motivate themselves and are happiest working out alone. And that.would.not.be.me.
Walking in my subdivision? I've had it verified by my personal trainer that unless I weigh 400 pounds and am not anywhere near the stratosphere of "fit," walking alone is not going to do a damned thing for me. Sure, it's a great bonus to a workout routine and a nice way to spend time with Buttercup while I stroll our neighborhood with her in the jogger, but my body needs more than that to realize it's time to burn some serious fat.
Signing up at the YMCA? Sure. Would have been a great plan if the place wasn't 45 minutes away. I'm not that motivated.
Signing up for the fitness boot camp I read so many great reviews about? #1: class meets at 5:45 and no way in hell I'm waking up with the sun unless I'm getting paid. #2: Try getting a babysitter who wants to mosey on over in time for me to haul my booty off to a class that freaking early in the morning up to five days a week. Not gonna happen.
Tae Bo and Zumba DVD's? Please see "Wii Fit and Wii Active" above.
The problem was that instead of realizing that what I was trying to do wasn't working for me, I was focusing on the fact that I wasn't living up to my promises and expectations. And really, how in hell do I write a memoir about losing weight if I'm not losing weight? (I don't. End of story.)
But my happy ending started the day I noticed a new sign on a building in the same parking lot as my grocery store. A gym. Ten minutes from my house and with an in-house daycare. A quick phone interview and visit to show me that Buttercup approved of the facility had me signing a check and in Zumba classes shaking my wild thang in less than 24 hours and smiling like a loon.
It's been two weeks, I'm hooked, and Baby F(ph)at is writing itself again.
And that's like 54 different kinds of awesome.