Filed under: Exercise, Middle Age, Posts | Tags: barn moms, barns, Exercise, Horses, pushups, soccer moms, step class, SUV, triceps
One of the benefits of working in an office is that I have been cultivating a nice store of fat around my stomach that keeps me warm now that the office air conditioning has kicked the temperature down to “Tundra.” Seriously, my index finger actually went numb the other day.
So, my schedule being what it is (work in the meat locker all day, take teenager to the barn, stay at barn while she rides, go home and fix Bagel Bites for dinner – it’s real food – and collapse in a super-sexy snoring heap on the couch), I have tried to get creative with my workouts.
Walking on country roads is interesting, if you don’t care much about fancy sports cars driven by a mid-life crisis speeding around corners and flicking you off because you’re in their space. If you go off-road for your walk, keep walking right to the drug store and get some cortisone for the poison ivy and chiggers.
So in the words of Clint Eastwood, I improvised. I adapted. I overcame.
I started working out in the back of the SUV while parked at the barn.
This workout is not for the faint of heart. Cross training? Please.
You’ve got nothing on someone who can do sit-ups and leg lifts
with only their upper body supported in the back of an SUV littered with hay, miscellaneous barn paraphernalia and water bottles…
…in the heat and dust, with 20 deer flies buzzing around the car like 13-year-olds around the mall, and with somebody’s smelly soccer cleats next to their head because nobody ever remembers to take them out of the car after practice.
Who needs a weight room bench? I’ve got a scraped-up bumper that serves nicely for my tricep workout.
Sideways planks and pushups work well off the bumper, too.
Of course, I’m not limited to the SUV exercises at the barn, although those can be done anywhere (except where your teenager thinks someone might see you).
Mats? Are you kidding? Try doing pushups in a barn with manure everywhere. You will not be touching the floor with anything except your hands and toes, I can promise you. And if you can’t do a real pushup horizontally, find the nearest fence or your car bumper and do them from a 45-degree angle.
Step class? Got that covered too. Find the nearest mounting block and there’s your step. Hop up and down on that a couple hundred times and you’ll never complain about the stairs at your house again.
Need to work the biceps and shoulders? Grab a bucket and put some water in it, then do your lifts. How about the rest of my arms, you ask? Easy – just brush a horse from head to toe. You’d be amazed how tired your arms get in 10 minutes. Wax on, wax off. Mr. Miyagi had something there.
And finally….cardio. No need to get on the treadmill or elliptical (a.k.a. the “I-limp-and-drool”) – go put a horse out in the field after being in all day, and then try to catch it again. Good luck – you’ll be chasing that beast for an hour. Scared of horses? Then walk the empty fields searching for the fly mask each horse managed to scrape off the day before.
Not a barn mom? Don’t despair – these exercises can be modified to fit any sports mom schedule, especially the SUV workout. Soccer mom? Try lifting their sports bags or water bottles instead of a bucket. Run or walk around the playing fields, but don’t do any arm exercises when you’re doing that – the paramedics might be called because your child has died of embarrassment.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, End Zone, football, Gwyneth, Gwyneth Paltrow, health, humor, Middle-Age, mugwort, NFL, Paltrow, personal care, sex, spas, sports, steam, subourbonmom, vaginal steaming, women's health
Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow, life guru to…no one, really…is touting the energizing and cleansing effects of something called the “Vaginal Steam.”
Yeah, you read that right.
It seems there is a new spa option that allows women to sit on a throne-like chair, and let steam infused with an herb called mugwort…cleanse the End Zone.
I’m not a medical expert, and the research I did (which consisted of talking to some friends) raised a few questions in my mind.
First of all, according to WebMD, one of the many uses of mugwort is as an energy tonic, which I suppose is why Gwyneth thought it might be “energizing.” Among many other things, Mugwort is also used for “worm infestations” and to “stimulate gastric juices and bile.” For worm infestations and gastric juice production, I refer you to a professional—especially if they’re in your End Zone.
WebMd also says Mugwort “might stimulate the uterus.” Um…to do what? Unless I’m pregnant and days past my kid’s due date, I don’t want my uterus doing much of anything, thank you very much. When you’re in your 40’s the less End Zone upheaval the better.
As far as I know, most people steam their bodies for three reasons: to relieve a sinus infection, to ease sore muscles, or to try and reduce the signs of age, sun and smoke damage.
If your End Zone is having unusual drainage, steaming it at a spa is not going to help. Chances are, you’ve had a few too many touchdowns in your End Zone and you need to see a professional, who hopefully has a quick antibiotic-related fix.
If your End Zone has muscles so sore that they need some time in a sauna, you need to re-think the level of play you’re allowing on the field. And by the way, the End Zone is already kind of its own personal sauna, don’t you think?
If your End Zone has sun or smoke damage…I don’t even know what to tell you. Maybe steam cleaning will be your thing after all.
I have no idea what the signs of End Zone aging might be, other than the grass changing colors, 
but I’m pretty sure that unless you’re okay with altering your End Zone using Botox, lifts and chemical peels, you might not want to steam down there either. If you really are concerned with the visual appeal, you can always repaint the lines, and get a new team logo. 
So thanks, Gwyneth, for making me aware of something I now can’t ever forget exists.
I was at the gym the other day and was disappointed with my new office physique (which resembles a cross between Claire and Cam from Modern Family). I wallowed in self-pity for a while, until a friend of mine reminded me of a blog I wrote last year about being happy with the body you have. So for all you folks who’ve already given up on your Resolutions to exercise ore and lose weight, read this:
Like many women, I have toyed with the idea of “getting some work done.” There are so many options available! You can inject things into your face to get rid of the wrinkles. You can make your lips fatter, your bottom rounder and your thighs skinnier. You can even take fat from one part of your body and put it somewhere else. But none of those things has ever really appealed to me. I have found a much cheaper way to make myself feel better about the toll time has taken on my face and body.
I recently heard a speech/performance by Canadian poet Shane Koyczan, about bullying (you can watch it by following the link at the end of the post.) There were many phrases and ideas of his that resonated with me, but the one I want to share is…
“If you can’t find something beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror.”
So I did.
My new mirror isn’t anything special. I got it at the Dollar Store for, well, a dollar. It has a white plastic rim, and for the moment, doesn’t have any water or toothpaste splotches. The glass doesn’t really magnify anything, but it did show me some things in a much different light.
The crow’s feet around my eyes come from years of squinting at diamonds on turquoise seas and Virginia mountain sunrises, and from searching for the Daughters #1 & #2 as they shot a goal or cantered over a jump.
The bump on my nose that makes my glasses lopsided is a reminder of my love of sports, although playing soccer might not have been one of my better choices (I broke my nose by kicking the ball into my own face. Try it at home—I dare you). Running, jumping, kicking and throwing—what a way to celebrate the body I was given!
The wrinkles on my forehead are the marks of a mother who worries about her family—are they doing okay in school? Will we have enough money for college? Do I still make Hubby happy? It is a miracle to have those things to worry about. Why would I erase them?
Even the wrinkles on my upper lip are testimony to the years of clamping my mouth shut in twenty years of marriage. I finally learned that not every opinion needs to be voiced—even though mine is usually better.
The freckles and age spots on my hands come from hours of driving my children to and from school as we talked about our day, from driving across country with Hubby, and riding horses as often as I could. Sure, I could get them lasered off, but why? I don’t want to look like I never had any adventures.
My hips and stomach are no longer flat or small. They shifted and made room for two daughters. No, I don’t have the body of a twenty-year-old anymore—I have the body of a mother, of someone who has survived my babies’ colic, teething, first steps, tantrums, first day of school, and first dates.
None of this is to say I’ve totally accepted this body I’m living in. I still highlight my hair every two months to cover up the gray, and I struggle to fit into jeans that I probably shouldn’t. But when the mirror on the wall in my bathroom isn’t making me happy, I try to remember to get the other one out, the one that says “You’re beautiful because of those lines, and wrinkles and sagging parts. They are the result of living your life, of all the things that have made you who you are.”
The erosion of the walls of the Colorado River could have been viewed as a tragic invasion of pristine countryside—instead, we now see the Grand Canyon as a wonder of the world. Why can’t our bodies be the same?
To see Shane’s performance, go to www.ShaneKoyczan.com.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, bars, bourbon, Dancing, drinking, elderly, Enzo's Chop House, humor, Middle-Age, parenting, parents, sandwich generation, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, Twerking, Viagra
Being part of the Sandwich Generation is more than just taking care of both your parents and your kids—you’re also the ground wire between those two high-voltage groups.
Now y’all, I am well aware that I have lately slipped into a routine of going to work, coming home, fixing dinner, and mindlessly binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy. Somewhere between the patient being diagnosed and the amazing procedure that miraculously saves her, I fall asleep. I know my mouth is hangs open and I probably snore, but no one has made it into a Vine yet (that I know of).
Until the other night, I assumed my flagging energy is a sign of age—then I was proved oh, so wrong.
A week or so ago, Hubby and I broke the mold and went out at eight o’clock on a Wednesday to meet some friends—we hadn’t seen them in a while, and they were going to Enzo’s Chop House.
Enzo’s is known for three things: great food, stiff drinks, and fun dance music from the 60’s and 70’s. We’d been there before, and knew there would mostly be older folks out having a good time before going home and bathing in Ben Gay—we were confident we would outlast them.
This time it wasn’t just an older crowd—it was a scene out of the movie Cocoon.
Our mere speckles of white hair and ability to walk without hitching one hip up on one side were not the only things that set us apart — was the dancing.
As I said, Enzo’s is also known as a fun place to dance to the oldies—and by that I mean Motown and good ol’ Southern Rock. (I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but Southern Rock is now classified as “classic.” When I was growing up it was just “Rock.”)
Usually, when Hubby and I dance, we do the high school sway back and forth thing, because the one time we took dancing lessons, it was pointed out (to me) that both people can’t lead. So while we shifted our weight back and forth, the rest of the crowd was doing the Shag, the Swing, and the Two-Step, and even throwing out some disco moves that would make John Travolta look bad.
It was humiliating.
And if the dancing wasn’t enough, watching those reliable social lubricants, Viagra and Bourbon start to take affect was just scary. Like any bar filled with 25-30-year-olds, the bourbon goggles eventually came on, and couples that had begun the evening together started mixing it up. Men in their 70’s shuffled over to tables occupied by younger women and began chatting them up. Eventually, one of the women would stray from the herd and find herself out on the dance floor shuffling and kicking her feet to Al Green and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Hands sometimes wandered a little lower than they should, and meaningful, myopic stares stretched across the dance floor from table to table.
It was almost like watching your parents twerk.
By ten o-clock, the Highball Shuffle took over as the dance move of choice. The music wound down, and Styrofoam water cups began to replace bourbon glasses on the tables. By 10:30 we were done with a capital “D”. We were sober, and I’ll admit it—a little jealous—we left those rascally retirees to their own (sometimes medically required) devices and went home to the next generation of bar-hopping, dancing romance-seekers.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, Blackjack, cards, casino, gambling, humor, Las Vegas, Middle-Age, office etiquette, southern, subourbonmom
Now that I sit in a cube, (it’s a cool one with open squares as my “walls” that make it look really modern—but it’s not just a bunch of crates from the back of the 7-11), I’ve realized my work environment is a lot like Vegas. This is not necessarily a bad thing–after all, people win big in Vegas. But it was a little disturbing once the thought came into my head. For all my fellow Cubies, see if this sounds familiar—maybe we’ll all win big!
Ten Ways My Office is like Vegas
- There is a certain amount of anticipatory energy humming through the office during prime hours (for us, it’s first thing in the morning)—you never know what’s going to happen. At the end of the business day, much like Vegas in the wee hours before dawn, there is a desperate determination to get that last big win before leaving.
- I’m not convinced fresh oxygen isn’t being pumped into the cold office air to keep us awake—although I did find the right thermostat to mess with. Good luck, my young Cubies! You have no idea what a temperature rollercoaster we’re about to get on!
Whenever I open my email, I get the same rush as when the dealer first deals out a Blackjack hand—I don’t know whether I’m going to get an ace or a deuce.- Like Vegas, dress is no longer formal. Khakis are the norm.
- When there’s a shriek as someone wins big (i.e. makes a sale, finishes a project, etc.)—We “air” fives all around, and people come wandering from all over the “casino” to see who won.
- The food/drinks (coffee in a Keurig dispenser and animal crackers) are plentiful, often served buffet-style. John Pinette (R.I.P.) would be jealous.
- The other “guests” love to discuss strategy, and every now there’s a card counter who gets removed from the casino.
- The entertainment (webinars, conferences, in-house training) is there for the taking, and I hear it’s easy to comp tickets, if you like that sort of thing.
- There aren’t any windows or clocks—I have no idea what the weather or time is at any given moment.
- The pit bosses are always watching—ok, not really, but they do have a habit of sneaking up on me from behind and watching what I’m doing, mostly because they know it irritates the crap out of me—I’m so getting a rearview mirror.
Offices aren’t always where we would choose to spend our time, all things being equal, but if you’re in the right frame of mind, it can be fun. So double down if you get dealt and ace, and let it ride.
Subourbon Mom 