An integral part of maintaining sanity while nannying is going to the gym. Every day. Like a robot.
This is absolutely a generalizeable claim, but there are a few reasons for my particular gym obsession. Mostly there are three: I like being in shape, I like smelling bad in public and simultaneously knowing that someone else commenting on my aroma would really be a faux pas, and I’m trying to get faster so I can run a four mile super fast in two weeks.
Also, there’s a really hot personal trainer.
He does complicated things with his hair.
I have noticed.
So I go to the gym and generally try to avoid speaking to anyone (except for the nice man with white hair who sits at the front desk and gives me towels and says “Good morning!” in a very perky way) because I need to stay focused on my music and my Me Time. I especially avoid the personal trainer, unless I am sending him profound glances from across the exercise bike and weight lifting machine strewn room. Sometimes, when I’m really lucky, he’s in the other little room with the rowing machines, and I go in and row really hard for 500 meters, which is awesome except then I have trouble breathing.
Most recently I rowed 500 meters in 1 minute and 54 seconds. Then I felt rather unfortunate.
If I passed out though, I imagined he would help me. Of course, then he would also get close enough to smell me (and I don’t think a first date would soon follow).
When I come back from the gym, there is no longer Me Time, so it’s important that I value it by not speaking to anyone while I can. What I’m trying to say is my smell is a boon and gives me a buffer zone. In any case, I get back and then I eat cereal with bananas on it and feed bites to the twins. They really like cereal. They really like my cereal.
And now, Margaret only drinks milk from the bowl left behind after cereal – really, this is an impressive feat for a one-year-old (you try drinking out of a bowl the size of your head). Then I shower because I have usually begun to feel ill from the waft of my own sweat and I worry the children will get brain damage as a result. You know, like oil and gas fumes.
Um, I think the real point here is that I’m going to win a four-mile run by running faster than I ever have in my life, in only two short weeks. (Yes, I purposely misplaced that modifier).
Or maybe the point is that I am in the middle of contemplating the fact that today was my last day as nanny to my niece and nephew (at least for a while). And despite my need to balance babies and high levels of aerobic activity, it makes me very sad.
But no one should cry; laughing is more fun.