I visited my parents over the weekend by accident. My husband and I had planned to visit my nauseatingly fit sister and her marathon-running fiance in Virginia. On Saturday, we were packed up and heading in that direction--determined not to let the blizzard swirling around us derail our plans--when we conceded defeat and stopped at my parents house instead. Since my parents are avid readers of my blog, they promptly asked me if I had exercised yet that day. In that moment, I was reminded of the irritating reality of accountability. I twisted my dad's arm, and he agreed to lead me in a yoga session.
My dad has been doing yoga since before it was cool. I have clear memories of him rolling around on the floor while the rest of the family was watching a movie or playing a board game during family night. He has even been known to take his mat out into the back yard in the wee hours of the morning for some sunrise yoga. During family beach vacations, it was not uncommon for us girls to be sunbathing in lawn chairs and look over to see our dad standing on his head. (As a side note, I have told many people that my dad can stand on his head for two hours at a time because I thought I remembered him doing so as a child. I was recently informed that it was actually more like ten minutes. Apparently, if you stand on your head for two hours, your head will, most likely, explode.) Anyway, I was not disappointed. He led me in great routine and gave me some pointers. I am not even sore today.
Today, I walked a mile in the snow with my mom. After my low point on Friday, I was thrilled when I didn't even get winded when walking up the big hill at the end of my parent's road.
I recently made a killer work-out mix for my ipod, so tomorrow I am back on the treadmill...