It’s not a Dirty Secret.


It was an innocent question. “Do you post about it?”

“Eh, not really. I can’t become one of those facebooking stay at home moms that posts about the gym constantly.”

He went on to explain that he thinks it is motivating to people to see people taking care of themselves. He’s right. Intellectually, I know that he is right. And he knows where of he speaks. My friend Tony lost a gazillion pounds in the last few years going to Yoga. He looks just like the handsome devil he was at 20. He is so damn inspiring he was on Good Morning, America. The guy knows what inspiring looks like.

“I agree. I just think that my stay at home mom-ness makes some people have the “Of course she works out – what else is she doing?” reaction, yanno?”

It was the first time I had admitted that there is a certain level of shame that goes along with striving to be fit when I don’t have a “real job.” Somehow making time for myself when I worked 50+ hours a week was more admirable to me.

I let this all roll around in my head for a few days. And then I decided, fuck it. I work about 22 hours a day. That is 154 hours a week. And I find the time. Six days a week I say to someone, even if it just Lucy “Nope, I can’t do that. I am going to the gym.” And I go. Sometimes the only thing that drags me there is the knowledge that I can take a shower. Sometimes I go so that I can get out of my own head for a few minutes. Sometimes I go because I am so damn close to the Wedding Weight (the number on the scale when we got married, at the peak of the Wedding Diet. It shouldn’t matter. I know this. But man, alive, it feels good. My body doesn’t resemble the Wedding Day body. My boobs are still cartoonishly large due to nursing. My stomach is still weirdly stretchy. But the scale, the dreaded scale, is resembling a me that said “Hot damn, take my picture all day and make me your wife!”)

But more often than not I go because I am obsessed. Not with being fit in a general sense. Or dieting. Or zipping up my skinny jeans. Or how I will look in a bathing suit this summer. But because I have a new hobby.

Sprint Triathlons. On April 28th I will be one week shy of 37-years-old and I will be competing in my very first sprint triathlon. Swim 250 yards. Bike ten miles. Run two miles. And I can not wait. I am over the moon excited. I lie in bed and I wonder if I can get my socks on faster if I roll them up kinda like a donut. I go back and forth between putting on a baseball hat under my bike helmet or not. As absurd as the tri-suit bathing suits are they must have a purpose and I scour the Internet for one that is universally flattering and only marginally overpriced.

I am coming out of hiding! I am proudly telling you and the whole damn world that I am “one of those women.” I am one of those women that is showing her kids that it is important to take time to care for yourself. It is important to work for things that you believe in. It is okay to take pride in feeling strong. And it is even okay to be one of those women that hangs around in the lobby drinking a cup of coffee after Spin class like “she doesn’t have anything better to do.” Because my bathrooms will get cleaned. My groceries will get purchased. My laundry will get put away and some more board books will be read. And I just might do it all with a smile on my face because I had a ten minute conversation with an adult that was not about poop or Hello Kitty.

Ladies at the gym in your fancy workout clothes – I am sorry my 26 year old self sneered at you. I did not undertand why you had on a matchy matchy gym ensemble instead of a decade old fraternity t-shirt. I didn’t understand that gym clothes might be the only “getting dressed” you did all day and that it was important to feel put together. I am sorry that I thought it was lame that you were not in any kind of hurry to leave the gym. I am sorry that I thought taking your time meant you didn’t have anything “better to do.” I don’t really have an excuse. I was still lighting a cigarette as soon as I pulled out of the gym parking lot. Can we just agree that there were a lot of things I did not have figured out and forgive me?


So, now that I spilled the beans you can expect to hear more.  Because when I get in to something I get really in to it.  I’ll be racing for a cause, Best for Babes.  You can expect to hear a lot more about that. No more time to gab.  I have a hot date with a treadmill.

10 responses to “It’s not a Dirty Secret.

  1. Pingback: Spring Sprang Sprung | Excitement on the side

  2. I think you’re amazing.

  3. Is it really seen as a dirty little secret? I guess I’m a little naïve about things – I think it’s completely wonderful that you take time for yourself regularly. I can’t even get myself to find time (and I know there’d be time if I looked, and it could be a little bit just forgetting) for a few push-ups or squats every other week or so. :)

  4. Wow. I think I’ve said this before but Bravo. Really. Doing the grocery and the cleaning alongside the gym is truly a feat. Such an inspiring way to look at the gym – for someone who only went twice in her life, and marveled exclusively of the ostentatious services in the locker room.

  5. HERO! Right here! Kelly, you are it. You are the shit. I am very pumped for you. Do this. Do it awesomely and do it proud. Hell, fuck it; we have only one life. Live it for you and your Lucy; yoga pants and all. Xo

  6. LOL I knew you were “one of those women” all along. :) (Like knows like. I could just feel it.) Congrats on signing up to do the sprint tri. I am excited to hear all about it. :) Keep on keepin’ on.

  7. That’s awesome!! Can’t wait to hear how it goes!

  8. God… I need to start working out. I do find this inspiring – so thank you. However – what do you do with your kids while you are at the gym? I’m a stay-at-home mom too and I am mixed on bringing my little guy to the gym daycare.

    • My big kiddo is in school and the little bitty goes to the gym daycare. I really like this one. I shopped around. I have quit a gym before because there kid room was a bored teenager in a cesspool of germs. Lucy was a year old when we decided to try it. And I tried it when I could take my seven year old to spy. :) it has changed my entire day. We have a routine. She is so happy to see her little pals. And I am so happy to just be me for an hour.

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