I always hated exercise.  I mean really.  Who likes to exercise?  Wasting time sweating and feeling uncomfortable when one could be watching Food Network?  Not.for.me.  No Thank you.

And then I started exercising a little.  You know for vanity.  For health! To not get fat!  You know, all the normal reasons.   But even though I did it, I couldn’t see myself as an exercise person.  You know the ones who are all fresh-faced and enthusiastic at the gym.  They just can’t miss their daily workout!  Blech.

So there I am exercising regularly and quite grumpily.  Like a blister though, exercise started to get to me… and then the final blow.  I became a Mom.

And now I know why some people love exercising.  Because it’s not restful at their home.   Because they need the endorphins for stress relief. If I go home I’m not going to be lying down on the couch if I’m tired.  I’m going to be wrestling with a willful toddler.  I will be picking him up.  Putting him down.  Picking him up.  Putting him down. Picking him… you get the idea.

So now I love exercise.  I love the gym.  I go everyday.  I swim in the morning with the elderly.   They aquacize around me like dolphins: benevolent guardians of our morning ritual.

I step in the water each morning and swim, swim, swim: cutting through the water until exhausted I walk out feeling clean and calm.  A little baptism to start the day.

And I attend insane fitness classes where the instructor screams at us like some kind of deranged drill sergeant.  “The biggest losers don’t’ do push-ups on their knees!  Get TO IT!”   And instead of resentment I feel a sort of gentle affection towards my abuser.  I run. I kick box.  I downward facing dog.  I do whatever to help beat down the stress because exercise exhausts and calms you.

I admit I still despise the girls at the gym who have the audacity to first run, then kick box and THEN attend boot camp. Yeah, people, that’s how you get their perfect bodies.  You eat really, really clean and exercise two hours a day.  Or you can do crack.

I’ve decided against those options.  I choose to be a happy law-abiding chubby bunny, eating too many cupcakes and watching too many sitcoms.

So I don’t look like a gym rat, but my heart is healthier and stronger in both the physical and emotional senses. And it helps me be a better Mom.  Exhausted by one too many “non-girly” push-ups I can handle it better when my picky toddler throws soup at the wall or kicks me for having the audacity to not let him jump off the couch and crack his head.  I can look at him and think, “I know it’s frustrating buddy, you are a little person in a big scary world” instead of “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO SEND ME OVER THE EDGE YOU MINI DICTATOR!”

And every tiny bit of extra patience I can give to my little boy, to my husband, to those I love is worth so much more than the hour I sacrificed to earn it.

P.S.  I’m also over at Raising Colombian Kids.  Today I’m talking about the hard times that led me to become and “excerciser”. Check it out here.