Early Mornings, Exercise, and Play

For one month now, I've been participating in an exercise science study at Skidmore College.  Four mornings a week, through the next sixteen weeks, two groups of participants show up at the gym; the first group arrives at 6 a.m., the second at 7 a.m.  I'm in the 7 a.m. group since waking up to make it by then is early enough, and quite an accomplishment for a former night owl like me.  This new ritual has forced changes in my life.  No longer do I stay up through the 11 p.m. news and then another  hour and a half of late-night entertainment.  Nope, my routine has changed  completely.  Now I get up around 5:30 a.m. just to have a little time at home before I leave, and at the other end of the day I am yawning and ready for bed by 9:30 p.m.! 

Preparations for the following day are taken care of the night before.  In order to be ready to go, I pack my work clothes before I go to bed, so by morning all I have to do is throw on my exercise clothes and go out the door (I'm not a morning person yet.  I've been known to show up with my shirt inside out and backwards!).  Usually, getting out the door is a pretty simple thing, but this winter has been exceptionally unfriendly, and many mornings I've had to battle the elements to arrive at the gym on time.  On cold, dark winter mornings, I find it really hard to get out of bed, and I've resorted to placing my alarm phone (cell phone alarm) across the room.  As much as my circadian rhythms are protesting, I am never so grateful for morning exercise as the moment it is over, having accomplished an hour of heart-pumping activity.  After that, the day starts with most anxious energy abated, and whatever challenges waiting on my desk suddenly seem less daunting.  I don't have to think about exercising, or that I should be exercising, for the rest of the day, because it is over and done with.  Our work-out schedule is a mix of various aerobic and weight-resistance exercises, all sessions one hour, as follows:

Mondays:  sprints (I use the stationary bike)
Tuesdays:  Yoga (yet to find the peace, though noticing slight increased flexibility)
Wednesdays:  off - sleep until 7 a.m. - yea!
Thursdays:  fundamental training (circuits)
Fridays:  endurance (tomorrow we're snow-shoeing at 7 a.m.!)

I've lost weight before dieting, and I've lost weight before exercising, but combining these efforts is a one-two punch that accelerates results and leaves me feeling like I'm doing pretty much everything I can to improve my health and to provide me with the ability to get on the floor and play with my grandchildren until I am old(er) and gray(er).  The more time I spend in the gym with my morning buddies, the more it seems like play and less like work.  Jump-roping this morning was not the torturous experience it was four weeks ago.  It was more like those mornings at recess at St. Clement's School, when we got in lines, waiting for our chance to jump rope for fun, knowing it was nothing more than play. 

I have hated organized exercise, but I love to play.  Soon, it will seem more like play.  I'm looking forward to playing with my grandchildren.  We're going to have so much fun! 

Photo image:  http://clatterymachinery.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/jump-rope-young-girls.jpg

It's a Different World

It’s been a rainy June in Saratoga Springs, and we’ve only had one day this month that’s reached 80 degrees. Days like this find me longing for the warm, long, lazy summer days of my childhood, when blue skies and sunshine were the only formula necessary for a good time.

When I was a little kid on MacArthur Drive, summer seemed so much longer than it does now. Then there was time to be bored, time to lie on the grass, contemplate the clouds, and watch the world go by. I often hear “it’s a different world now” usually in regard to politics, personal finances, or raising kids. It’s also a different world for the way kids experience life. During our 1950s and 60s summers, we’d run out the door after breakfast and wouldn’t return until lunch time. It was the same for the hours between lunch and “supper” as we called dinner then. Our mothers knew we were outside playing, but didn’t have to know exactly where. Play wasn’t structured or organized or considered a “date.” It didn’t cost a thing. It was spontaneous and creative. Most mothers were home then, not burdened by the worries of parents today. We didn’t take snacks with us everywhere we went. We ate when we were home. We didn’t lug water bottles or vitamin-infused drinks with us. We drank from water fountains or garden hoses. We rode our bikes or walked, and family dogs tagged along. We were participants, more than mere observers, of the world around us. We didn’t have to pay fees to be part of a team. We just signed on and anyone who wanted to, played ball. When the sun went down, our parents would gather on lawn chairs in a neighbor’s driveway and watch as the kids played Red Light Green Light , Red Rover, or Freeze Tag. On the Fourth of July, we’d gather together and swirl sparklers in glimmering spirals, with minimal caution from our parents to be careful. My mother, her world passing by more quickly than ours, would sigh, “After the Fourth of July, summer’s over…” and we’d protest, “Mom, don’t say that!” Our summer was just beginning.

Summer hasn’t yet officially started. The Fourth of July is approaching, and I can’t wait. There’s so much summer to enjoy after that!

Tomorrow's blog: Bolton Landing!

photo credit: http://images.quickblogcast.com/101258-93957/Boy_Drinking_Water_from_Garden_Hose.jpg