It always starts with the shoes.
There isnt a problem getting dressed to get out the door, even for the kids, clothes are easy. Clean or dirty they get put on, but what is the kicker?
The shoes.
Momma's shoes are the last to get on. I'll spend a good 5 minutes running around the house looking for matching shoes, or "princess" shoes for the kids. Then once EVERYONE else is situated, I sit on the ground and look at my shoes.
Getting my running or training shoes on in the morning is my defining moment. Will I wimp out and just slip on sandles? Heck I can live in workout clothing all day, but its not complete without the SHOES. Every morning I sit there, I look out the window and stare at my garden, then look down at the SHOES (thats not even half of em).
A while back I was teaching one of my Stroller Stride classes, the ladies were talking about how hard it was getting out to class, it was all to much to ask for to pack up the kids, then head for a workout. Good heavens I knew, I decided to pipe in on my conversation and was shut down by this comment:
"YOU dont understand, You CAN just get up every morning and workout!", now it doesnt seem that harsh of a comment, but it was. Just because I was happy to be outdoors, and happy to bust out some ridiculous about of squats while dealing my 2 of my children strapped into a stroller, while also keeping up the morale of 6 other women, doesnt mean that it was easy for me.
"YOU dont understand, You CAN just get up every morning and workout!", now it doesnt seem that harsh of a comment, but it was. Just because I was happy to be outdoors, and happy to bust out some ridiculous about of squats while dealing my 2 of my children strapped into a stroller, while also keeping up the morale of 6 other women, doesnt mean that it was easy for me.
We all deal with our own battles. Every morning the SHOES and I battle it out.
Will they get strapped on?
Yes. Yes, they will. Slowly, and precisely. The shoes are magic, once they get slipped on it feels as though I shock bursts through my body, it reminds of when a dog sees the LEASH, and they get super excited to finally be let out, and they start wagging their tag all crazy that they nearly beat you down with it, but oh man the LEASH!
Thats my body, but I am not there shaking my booty, knocking my kids out ( or am I?).
Then once Im laced up, I make a mental note on how sexy my size 10 feet look in my rad shoes, JUMP up, give myself a nod in the mirror then scream,
"EVERYONE GET IN THE CAR!!! Lets do this."
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