I woke this morning with a "really great" idea for a blog post just as soon as I got the kids off to school.
We all know where this is going.
It probably wasn't that great, anyway.
But let me tell you this, because it's interesting. To me, at least.
Last Saturday, I went to Flashback Aerobics Jam and killed myself for two hours while systematically making it so that I couldn't climb stairs without pain for a week. According to my heart monitor, I burned 1048 calories. I was pretty excited to crack into the 1000s as I haven't done that since I dropped out of stinking Cardio Kickboxing. (I prefer to be able to lift my arms, can you believe?)
Excited, that is, until Tuesday when we had a house showing (the first one in five weeks). Since I'd just come home from the gym (where I burned a WHOPPING 350), I was still wearing my heart monitor so, out of curiosity, I turned it on and cleaned like a maniac.
Two hours and twenty-three minutes later, I'd burned 853 calories. Cleaning my house.
OK, really? Is the extra 200 calories really worth it?
Sure, housework has done nothing to reduce this extra layer of padding I've added in the last ten years. If anything, it's grown. Possibly the close proximity of Pepsi and general pantry type things WHILE I clean house. And the fact that once you've killed yourself in Flashback Aerobics Jam, and Cardio Kickboxing, and Step, and Yoga (not all at once, mind you, I'm not suicidal), you question whether that bag of chips is really calling your name or calling you stupid. While making a bed and vacuuming the floor MIGHT, possibly, make me think I DESERVE a treat.
So, by killing myself, essentially, I'm buying a conscience.