I LOVE getting mail! Actual mail…tangible, openable, recyclable. Not instant, digital, deletable.
Maybe it’s the event of it – waiting for the mailman to arrive and potentially leave a check in my mailbox (Although it usually ends-up being a bill, I still visualize those checks coming in.) Maybe it’s the surprise of it – receiving an unexpected card from a friend. And it’s definitely a reminder of a simpler time when people would actually sit down at a desk and write out an invitation, not send an e-vite.
It’s become a ritual for the girls and I to get the mail after we pick Bianca up from school. We drive around our block so the mailbox is on my side of the car, and I visualize the mail.
On Monday I was really disappointed that the mailbox was empty. At first, I thought we didn’t get any mail…But then realized that NEVER happens! In a house with seven people, there’s always at least an insurance or cell phone bill in the mailbox. Then I thought maybe it was one of those rare, unknown, only celebrated by the post office holidays…it was, after all, Lefty Day this week for all of the left-handed, right-brained people out there like me. I knew Chuck didn’t get the mail because he wasn’t home yet…so where was my mail?
I backed my big, black bus up, pulled in the driveway, and a huge smile grew across my face as I saw my mail resting on a box on my front porch!
This was even better than mail in the mailbox. A package had arrived! I knew what the package was, which did take away from some of the excitement, but I was still ecstatic! (Although I’m not sure why considering I DID know what was waiting for me…. It’s never a good thing when you open a package to receive a physicians’ warning.)
You see, I temporarily lost my mind and ordered the Insanity workout program – and it finally arrived.
It was about this time a year ago that I visited my OB-GYN for my six-week post-partum check-up. I’ll never forget what my doctor did when I asked him if ‘this’ (I said while pointing to my sagging, flabby stomach) would ever go away. He handed me a prescription page from his pad with the name and phone number of a plastic surgeon.
Now, I have no problem with plastic surgery as a practice. In fact, if I were a little braver and a LOT richer, I probably would have driven straight there after leaving his office. But I’m not a huge fan of surgery and I don’t have thousands of dollars burning a hole in my pocket. So, I gave myself a year to loose the baby weight, tone up to my pre-twin size, and prove my doctor wrong.
Then that year marker rolled back around…and I still had that sagging, flabby stomach. Now I could make a million excuses – like my sports hernia, or my crick in my knee, or the fact that I don’t know when I’m suppose to exercise by myself when I can’t even seem to go to the bathroom without a little person finding me. But the truth is I just needed to get a plan and make the decision to stick to it. I figured if the Insanity plan didn’t get rid of the flab…well, then maybe my OB was right (I am pretty sure my abdominal muscles ripped during pregnancy, so maybe I do need some surgical help. But I’m going to give it everything I’ve got to avoid it.)
The first thing you are supposed to do with this program is take before pictures.
(I have these in a secure location where no one will see them until I have after pictures as a buffer.) I even told Chuck, my photographer, that he wasn’t allowed to look at the pictures on the back of my camera.
“I’m the one who took the pictures,” Chuck said. “I obviously saw.”
When I finally got the courage to look at the back of my camera myself, I was pleasantly surprised at the way my stomach looked in the photo.
‘Oh, it’s not as bad as I thought from the side either,’ I thought to myself.
‘My arms aren’t too bad,’ went though my mind as I saw the bicep pose.
‘Holy Lord!’ I stopped on the next photo, my mouth falling open. ‘Is that what my ass really looks like?’
Ladies (and probably gentlemen too) it is a REALLY good thing we don’t actually have eyes in the back of our heads. Because that is NOT something I care to see more than absolutely necessary.
However, if you ever want something to motivate you to get to the gym, have someone take a photo of you from the back. It is nothing short of shocking.
Wish me luck as I embark on this grueling, miserable, sweaty, unbearable, sixty-day journey. I am dreading it…But not quite as bad as I’m dreading having this rear-end for the rest of my life. So, I’m hitting the ground running – and jumping – and squatting – and lunging – and quite possibly ending-up in the emergency room.