Who Needs a Personal Trainer...

when you have a three and a half year old?

Yesterday I had an unusual burst of motivation, threw on a sports bra (by the way, IS there a sports bra for a girl who's actually got boobs? Because I've never found one. Ever.), and did that painwhore Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. Actually, I've been doing it somewhat regularly in the past week or so (and by regularly, I mean I do it every time the pain from the last time I did it subsides--so my "30" Day Shred will probably be 90 Day Shred).

So yippy for me. I exercised. And I felt good about it. I really do think that her thirty minute work out does more for me than an hour on the elliptical trainer because she kicks the everloving crap out of me with her jumping jacks and her push-ups (I say 30 minutes even though it's only 20 minutes of actually working out because my DVD won't let me fast forward through her yappity-yap at the beginning. Annoying.)

I picked Ethan up from school, feeling good about myself---two days without any high fructose corn syrup AND a good cardio & strength work out under my belt by noon on a Tuesday? Not too shabby for little old me, if I say so myself.

And then, in the car on the way home, out of nowhere, the child says, "Mom, today we can go to your gym and I can play in the play room."

Huh?!

A.) He's never been to the play room in this gym. I always go when he's in school. I didn't know he even knew I HAD a gym membership. Or that the gym had a play room.

B.) When I used to take him the Y play room in Los Angeles, he would cry and cling to me and beg me not to go. So how he went from that to "let's go to your gym so I can play in the play room," is kind of beyond my powers of understanding.

But what could I do? The kid is offering, nay, DEMANDING to go play in a new place so that I can exercise. It's really hard to say no to that. No matter how badly my thighs were aching from all the lunges I did at 10am, at 5pm, I found myself on the elliptical trainer for another 45 minutes, while Ethan happily went from toy to toy in the new play room. He was mightily disappointed that they didn't let him go outside and play on their big play structures, but he still managed to make me a heart fish:

When I went to pick him up at the play room, I was really looking forward to going home and parking my exhausted, if slightly more toned, ass on the couch. But Ethan had other plans. Plans that involved more movement. Oh, so much movement.

On our way home from the gym, Ethan piped up with, "Mom, when we get home, let's have a dance party!"

What?! Kid! Jillian Michaels beat your mama up this morning. Then she got up on the elliptical machine so you could turn a bunch of construction paper hearts into a fish (that I will treasure forever, naturally). And now I have to go home and dance? Dude. Do you know me at all???!!!

But we did. I switched the TV back and forth between the electronica and classic dance stations and we pumped up the jam (hello, 90's, "It takes 2 to make a thing go right") for an hour before daddy came home. I tried to take some breaks under the guise of getting some video of Ethan, but he is a wily little man and would not go for that. If he was dancing, I was dancing.

Today? "Sore" doesn't quite seem to really do justice to the ache in my muscles. Given that I only do the 30 Day Shred when the sore goes away, I should pop it in the DVD player sometime in 2011.

But it's all good because our dance party was a riot. The boy's got some crazy rhythm. A little "Elaine" at times, it's still pretty entertaining. And once again, nothing highlights my inability to go outside the safety of beige (or my inability to keep my house clean and organized) like a video. And our cat? Is so bored.

Ethan's Living Room Dance Par-tay from PC on Vimeo.