Crossing.

Cross training, after not doing much of it at all for the past two or so months, means:

• legs that beg for mercy halfway through the first set of lunges;
  
• a butt that tries to give up when you switch to squats;
• thighs that laugh when you attempt to cajole them into one more set of plies;
• a three-year-old son who tells you that you look "very, very weird" doing your push-ups; and
  
• a body that wakes up so wiped out the next day that it doesn't even want to walk downstairs. Even though that's where the food is. And the body is hungry. All the time. So food holds a lot of appeal.
  

Yeah, you would think I was doing some sort of hard-core whip-your-body-into-shape thing but, no. I wasn't. I was simply attempting to make it through an hour of Exercise TV on demand. No kidding. And I was only using 6lb hand weights for the exercises that required them.

I'm blaming the baby. Maybe blame isn't such a nice word. It's more like I'm using that little guy as an excuse. He's got to be making it harder to lunge and squat and plie and hoist weights and do all those things that used to feel so easy. Right? Right.

(Forget about how I haven't done any lunges or squats or plies or what-have-yous in ahem two months. That can't be it. It's got to be the baby!)

Anyway, since the race I've been cross-training and you can see it has been kicking my butt. I'm going to stick with it, though, because these legs aren't going to strengthen themselves. And with all the eating I've been doing lately I've got to do something because I simply can't get in as many running miles as I used to. Not possible.

So, there you have it. Lots of cross training on the horizon. Still some running, probably lots of walking. Taking it as it comes. And learning that push-ups in front of the kid are a no-no. I don't need anyone telling me I look weird!

~ Felice