(Wo)man, machine, poem

I got a new whip for the exercise area in my den a few weeks ago. It's been great so far. My booty is lit. My husband has gotten extra handsy. But somewhere between Billy Corgan and Gord Downie on my carefully curated workout playlist, you'll find me in the midst of agony. I hate intense cardio. Oh well, at least it's good music to die to.

In all seriousness, I'm 36 now. I can't afford to treat my body like trash. It hurts all the time. My neck is in a perpetual state of disrepair. I need to step up my game. I have to find ways to stay active through the winter, especially with the potential of having another baby.

I like being on the floor playing with my kids. I like running around with them. I don't want to be one of those moms who can't do those things because I don't have the energy.

So with that said, it's lights out time.

These 6am mornings and 10pm bedtimes are really doing something to me. So is this bike.

No booty pics. You'll just have to trust me.