Strength In Numbers - or alternate title; Ouch!

Lately I have been a little, shall we say, "too comfortable".

In layman's terms, I have not gotten off my duff much and my beloved treadmill has gotten no action in weeks over a month. And a half. Closer to two.

I adore my treadmill, I really do, but I have discovered since we rearranged the basement that having the treadmill and the television on the same circuit, just does not work. Mr. Clean randomly decides to steal the extension cord I use to solve this problem (since technically it does belong to him) leaving me with the choice to hit the treadmill while staring at the mess my kids have left in the basement or to sit among the mess my kids have left in the basement and watch television sans the treadmill carrying me miles to nowhere. Neither option is appealing to me.

Back in the day I used to be a gym rat. I will wait while you roll your eyes at the fact I used to be one of those girls. I admit it. I would spend about three hours a day at the gym and even got into serious power lifting. I was a strong girl.

I got into a car accident and had to stay out of the gym for six weeks. During this time I started dating Mr. Clean, the dreamboat. All visions of being the next Rachel McLish were gone. I just wanted to be Mr. Clean's girlfriend.

Fast forward 8 years and two babies later and I was a little older, a little wider and quite content about it. But I really wanted to work out again so my friend Angie and I decided to join Curves. I was in heaven since I could do circuit training in only 30 minutes. Then I got pregnant and had to stop due to my history of miscarriage. I bid adieu to Curves.

Four years and another state later (and throw in one more kid for good measure even though I did not give birth to him) I am a little older and yet a bit wider. Time to get off my duff. There is a Curves about 1.5 minutes from my house (if you drive) that has been beckoning me for the four years I have lived here. I have resisted out of the shame that I am no longer my former powerful self (I might as well call it for what it is... pride). Then I saw some pictures my bratty beloved brother took on his digital camera while we were camping this weekend that included my denim clad backside. Instant torture. You gotta love technology.

Ironically, last week my friend asked me if I wanted to go with her to Curves for their, "two for one" promotion. She had no idea that I was a former Curves junkie. It took all my strength and social graces not to hug her and do a Charlie Brown happy dance right then and there. Tonight we went for the first night together. It was sheer sweaty, heart pumping bliss.

Afterward we went into the library to return some books on the way home. Back in the day I would not be caught dead with out my "face on" and hair done before, during and even after the gym. Tonight I walked into our library without hesitation and without lipstick, still in my workout clothes (insert gasp here). I would have never done that alone. I guess it is true that there is strength in numbers.

Tomorrow I anticipate that amazingly agonizingly wonderful feeling that all power lifters (even former ones) love... the feeling of "ouch". So if I don't post, you'll know I could not move. But I will be smiling about it.