I have classic hoarder tendencies. I have a very, VERY hard time throwing anything out, including, but not limited to: tissue paper that comes in gift bags; disposable plastic packaging for food products; old school papers; and, of course, anything that could be transformed with paper, glue, duct tape, paint, or fabric. So when we got new carpet in our foreclosure last year, it pretty much broke my heart to think about throwing out the old carpet. I know, I know. I need a therapist. Or Niecy Nash.
After hours of begging and promises of “Free Wake Up with the Baby” cards, Jeremy let me keep one of the old carpet pieces from a bedroom. Believe me, in my head it sounds like keeping things is ALWAYS a good idea. Fortunately this time it was…
We were able to move the carpet into the biggest room in our basement helping us to lay the foundation for a new home gym. One T.V., one elliptical machine, a couple free weights, and a few testosterone-y videos later, we officially have a place to get in shape even when the weather is 102 degrees outside. The best part about having a place inside the house to get my sweat on? Not leaving the house, and not paying for a monthly membership to a gym (plus childcare costs, plus the amount of money to look semi-cute in front of other fit gym-goers that have the tightest bodies imaginable). Not that I’m bitter.
Now we just take the rascally toddler with us to the basement, pop in a video or whip out some coloring books and a bunch of matchbox cars, and sweat it out to Barney & Friends. Jeremy prefers partnering up with Tony Horton (a.k.a. the most annoying, yet still effective, late-night infomercial king).
I love that we can still make our health a priority without a huge time investment each day. Instead of thirty minutes spent getting ready, loaded into the car, and then traveling home, I can use that time for other more important things…like watching Jerseylicious. Plus, I’ve never been a fan of sweating on someone else’s machine–where there were other people previously sweating. And call me paranoid, but I also feel judged when I wipe it down with antibacterial spray for the seventh time.
And let’s be honest, as a hoarder, I don’t really want to share THIS fine hunk of eye candy with any other spandex-sporting ladies, unless you are wearing spandex while reading this .