My Own Personal Trainer

On one of my recent days away from the store, I stayed home and dealt with a few yard-related chores. It was the day after a tremendous storm, and our three big trees took the chance to shed a few pounds of excess…branches that had been hanging around and needed to move on.

There was also a small bed I had been meaning to edge with limestone. These specific rocks had been waiting for me to deal with them all summer and had been placed at the back of our property. The bed was at the front of our yard. So I moved them.

I decided on my two treks up the driveway to lift two pieces at a time – one in each hand – and do reps with them by lifting them backwards, in an up and down motion, to work a group of muscles that just might need a little extra. These rocks weighed about 20 pounds each, and I combined this stroke-of-genius routine with a slower pace to increase the reps. I took my time with the hundred feet I needed to cover.

A few hours later, I was remembering the last time I took personal training upon myself in a semi-serious manner. It was within the year of my son’s birth, and our walks together with the stroller and the hikes with the kiddie backpack still left me feeling cooped up. I had lived in fear during my pregnancy of losing my core strength and was trying to gain it back, and it just seemed like walking wasn’t the trick. I like to “do” for myself. I do not like to wait – for myself to regain or for others to help. I find the challenge of solo-moving the piano/appliance/sofa just that.

So, I had taken it upon myself during the golden child’s nap time to work stair climbing into my routine. Why use a Stairmaster at a gym you really can’t afford when your mortgage provides you with three flights of stairs in a four-story house? I was checking how to get my first Minnesota home loan and actually considering these kind of advantages already that time.

I would start by strapping the baby monitor to my waist, so as not to miss the sweet darling’s squeaks and cries. This was done with a bungee cord of sorts, as the monitor was not designed for this exact purpose. Why did I not just hold it? Well, that’s because I would carry large cans of tomatoes in each hand and work lifting them into my “stair routine”. If the tomatoes had been consumed before the next session, it was two other matching somethings from the pantry with strict specifics on weight. It MUST be 20oz or more, or why waste my time?

The base of my climb was our driveway. Up the flight of stairs to the first floor deck, up the back flight of stairs to the second floor landing, and up the final set of stairs to the third floor. Then I would retrace my steps to the driveway and start again. This was all done at the back of the house, because the baby’s room was in the front of the house. Always thinking, that’s me.

My initial goal was twenty-five climbs up – with arm movements to match the width of the staircases – and twenty-five climbs down. I eased it up to thirty over time and maxed out at fifty. That’s when I was finally and totally bored with this concept. It was still blended with the walks and hikes, but interior staircases hold little allure. Even the dog, who I had to dance around initially as he did every step with me, got bored and started to just lie on the deck positioned perfectly where he could see me climb the first two flights. His eyes were always on me.

Somewhere during my reps with the tomatoes during the days of the thirty climbs, I changed my lifting and lifted the cans behind me. Angled to go backwards and work the back of my arms a wee bit. I can be zealous in my private moments, and I finished every step and lift. That day I felt good when it was over.

At the end of most of my days with a new baby and new business, I went to bed tired. That night I felt great when I went to sleep.

The next day, I went to lift the baby out of his crib and I found that one arm just wouldn’t make the move to lift. It ached a bit as I massaged it before reaching back in for my sweet bundle. Again, no go with the left arm. I didn’t actually hurt, and there was no distinct pain – it just was telling me no.

So I lifted the baby with my right arm and carried him down the stairs in both arms. By the end of the day, the left arm was fine again. Crisis averted but never told to my husband.

But I will never forget looking over at the dog, who was with me at the crib always. As I massaged my arm, he gave me a look that told me he knew everything and had seen this coming. We spent a lot of time together, he and me and the new human. He turned his head and walked ahead of me down the stairs.

I swear he was tsking and smiling his dog smile where I couldn’t see.

Smart dog.

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