It's Fun to Stay at the YMCA

     We joined the Y. We get to do it for free since Cole is a recruiter and we are not affiliated with a post, so he does not have regular PT. The rule is we have to each go at least eight times a month for our membership to remain valid and cost free. We just found this out yesterday. But we signed up just last week, and we are unclear as to whether or not that eight times applies when there are only eight days left in the month. 


     We went and worked out all three days of the weekend last weekend. Then Monday, we didn't go, but I did the elliptical at home for forty minutes and the (don't laugh at me!) shake weight for the recommended six minutes. My body was hurting on Tuesday. But we had to go to the Y. So, being the sneaky couple that we are, we swiped our cards to sign in, then walked around for a few minutes, and walked out. Tonight we are going again, but we are actually going to work out. 


     I hate working out. I hate sweating. I hate pain. But for the first time in my life, I am not working or going to school (though I am looking for jobs and thinking about going back to school - but that's a different post for a different day) so I am not as active as I used to be. Working at Pier 1 was a huge workout, walking around constantly, lifting furniture, unloading truck, etc. Being in school, my classes were always on the opposite side of campus from each other, so there was the quick walk to get where I needed to be at the time I needed to be there. But right now, I can only walk around my house so much. The only thing I am really lifting is laundry baskets. So needless to say, I've gained weight.


     I've never felt skinny. I've always felt like I was bigger. And compared to some of my friends who are a lot shorter than me and wear size 0 jeans, I was bigger. I'm tall and I have curves. I always have. But my curves have gotten a little out of control lately. I've weighed the same thing from the age of seventeen up until Cole and I started dating. My mom always says, "Love makes you fat and sassy!" And it is true. I finally mustered up the courage to weigh myself, and I found I had gained thirty pounds since meeting Cole. I look at old pictures (that I distinctly remember years ago complaining how fat I was in them) and I can't believe how skinny I was in them, how small my arms were, and how small I am not anymore. 


     I'm not fat, and I know that. This post is not about me being superficial and crazy over gaining a single pound. I love my body. But Cole and I have only known each other for two years. Thirty pounds in two years may not seem like much, but what would happen if I gained thirty pounds every two years? Eventually, that would make me extremely overweight and unhealthy. So I just want to be healthier again (and fit into my wardrobe again!) It seems impossible to have my seventeen year old body back, but nothing is impossible, especially since I am only twenty-two. I can do anything. 


     When I picked out the name for this blog, I thought long and hard about it. And it fits. It fits everything about my life. So here is to adjusting not only to the Midwest, but also to working out and living a healthier lifestyle. And hopefully to my body adjusting so it will look like it did when it was seventeen! :-)

It's a Start.

     So. We live in Onalaska, Wisconsin. You've probably never heard of it. He's from Georigia, and I'm from South Carolina, where we met, married, and moved from. We've been here for six months. I still have not adjusted by any means. Well, that may not be true. I've adjusted to snow and what I feel is isolation. I don't have many true friends here, other than my wonderful husband, Cole. And I'm so thankful that he is my best friend. He is the reason we are here, so obviously, if it were not for him, I wouldn't be here. But if it weren't for him, I couldn't make it here. He keeps me grounded and he keeps me happy. Not to say I do not have sad days. But because of him, I find a reason to be happy every day.

     Cole and I have been married for a year and two months. I am not sure if that means we are still newlyweds, but I thoroughly believe you are a newlywed as long as you act like a newlywed. So we will probably be newlyweds until we are eighty-seven and a half. We didn't live together before we got married. We were kind of nomads together, though. He lived with his mom out in Kiawah, and I lived with my parents in North Charleston, which was a good forty-five minutes - an hour away. That's not really that far, but we would stay the weekends at his mom's and the weekdays at my parents' house. I'm not sure that counts as living together, though. So it was a huge adjustment moving out of my parents' house and in with a boy. That one, I've almost completely adjusted to.


     Marriage? That one isn't too hard. Everyone said the first year would be the hardest, but that was a breeze. We make a great team. I tell people I know our marriage will last a lifetime because Cole and I are eternally six years old. So the marriage has been easy so far, but the domestication process, however, has not. I have a hard time doing housework (and an even harder time not calling housework "chores.") For example, right now, I should be taking the clothes out of the laundry machine and putting them in the dryer. Then I need to put Cole's workout clothes in the laundry machine and pray they will be dry by the time I meet him at work at five thirty so we can go to the Y. And I need to put the dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. And vacuum the kitchen. And make up the bed. It's not a lot. I am finding I am just not disciplined in housework. I did chores when I lived with my parents. But I had to be told to do them. I'm not dirty. I'm just not a neat freak. Our house is clean; it just may be a little messy. 


     So I went from living with my parents to getting married, moving out of their house, living with a boy, and moving half way across the country all in less than a year. It's a lot to get used to. But I'm working on it. I'm not writing all this, believing that anyone is going to read it. I'm not that important. But it's off my chest. It's a start. We'll see what happens.