For the 2013 Lenten season, I have given up my two favorite night time rituals: sleep aides and sitting on my derrière. (It was an accident, really. I went on vacation and forgot my opiates.) What I haven’t given up? A glass of wine and a fabulous book. I’m going to push straight through Resurrection Sunday and beyond with P90X, a glass of sparkling white, and Moby Dick. Every night, in that order. I reckon that trifecta would put me to sleep as well as a pill. But don’t be looking for my B&A shots on this blog. No, Madame.
My kids have taken a surprising interest in the P90X videos. I wish they were that interested in Herman Melville, but there’s still time. My four-year-old son asked me if I was watching my “big muscle movie” and if I was going to get some big muscles, too. My girls watched me do the first workout, participating for about 20 minutes before settling down on their leopard-print bean bags to watch me sweat and strain. I shared that I was doing this to get stronger, that I want to keep up with all of them as they grow. My oldest asked me if she would lose weight by doing P90X. What the what? She’s a nine-year-old, über-sheltered bean pole! Where did she hear this stuff? Well, probably from her mother. I tried to redeem those negative messages explaining that muscle actually weighs more than fat and that the goal is to get strong so we can explore the world together. She flashed a shy smile and said she’s glad that I’m doing this. And for so much more than burning fat and building muscle, I am glad, too. Now, for that plyometric workout . . .
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