First of all, I have cellulite.

In honor of Halloween, I want to talk about the scariest place I’ve ever been. This place is a thing of nightmares and a killer of dreams. It’s so upsetting that it makes me cringe just thinking about it. Oh yeah; It’s that bad. This place is the gym.

Instagram, Facebook and Twitter are full of mommies working their asses off at the gym and I admire the fact that they make time to work out every single day. Kudos to you. You all are the real MVP’s and deserve some type of award. While you’re tearing it up on the Stairmaster and carving out your summer body, I’m over here downing a container of Ben & Jerry’s and a family size bag of Salt & Vinegar chips. The gym is literally the last place I would like to be.

Just because I don’t physically go to the gym, that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the style and comfort of gym clothes. When I’m not at work, I’m almost always dressed like I’m headed to an intense yoga class. My usual outfit is leggings, a pair of runners and a t-shirt with a catchy slogan like “Makeup and Muscles”, “I flexed and the sleeves fell off” and my all-time fave “Squats so deep my butt can write poetry.” Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t ask me if I’m on my way to workout due to my attire; to which I always answer “Yep, second time today.” Is it a lie? No. Let me explain why.

Have you ever washed laundry while holding a 20-pound baby? Have you ever made lasagna while holding a 20-pound baby? Have you ever even dropped a Cheeto on the ground and had to pick it up while holding a 20-pound baby? If you’ve done any of the above then I’m sure you’d agree that going to the gym has got nothing on a mother’s daily duties while holding a fat ass baby who doesn’t care at all about your aching back and knows damn well he can really walk, but is too lazy to get his ass up and do it.

So yes, I “work-out” every day. Every. Damn. Day.

I will admit, there was about two months after Ashton was born when I was determined to be one of those rock hard ab mommas. I followed all of these fitness pages as motivation, joined a gym, got a personal trainer and even signed up for one of those shake and tea programs (shout out to Herbalife! They’re delicious). I tried really hard. I woke up at 5:00 am, three times a week and dragged myself to the gym where I joined a small group of people and a very intimidating trainer for a grueling, hour-long, boot camp session. I hated being there. I hated it so much.

One morning, after doing a series of exercises that felt more like Chinese torture techniques, my trainer grabs three big wooden boxes, stacks them on top of each other and tells me to jump on top of and back off of the boxes ten times. Come again? And get this – I couldn’t even get a running start. He wanted me to stand in front of the boxes, bend my knees and literally hop on top of the boxes. Even though I knew this was going to end horribly, my pride would not let me quit. The other members of the group were watching me and I ain’t no punk bitch. I bent my knees and squatted as low as I could go (I’m talkin my vajayjay was nearly touching the ground) and I shot up like a fucking rocket. To my surprise I made it to the top of the boxes! Also to my surprise, my lack of balance turned my victory into a massive failure. I suddenly toppled over and landed on my boobs between the mirror and the boxes- face down, ass up. As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, when I attempted to quickly stand and gather the broken pieces of my dignity, I was jerked back down to the ground because my huge curly fro had gotten tangled in the velcro on the edge of the floor mat. It took the trainer, the gym manager and a very concerned janitor 5 minutes to untangle my frizzy mane and set me free. It’s safe to say I haven’t returned to that hell hole since.

Even though I don’t care for working out, I still make an effort to maintain my figure. I have been on every diet. Atkins. Weight Watchers. Slim Fast. Mediterranean. South Beach. Even that Beyoncé cayenne pepper water fast that everyone was doing (I didn’t last 15 minutes). I still try to eat pretty healthy even though I’ve never stuck to any diet for longer than two weeks. I don’t drink juice or soda, I stay away from white carbs and don’t really eat sugar at all… at least not Monday through Thursday. On the weekends, anything goes! On Fridays you can usually find me buying at least $40 worth of the most over processed snacks I can find at Target and chugging a bottle of J. Lohr like it’s nobody’s business. I just don’t understand how you can live off of steamed veggies, flax seed and multivitamins. I mean broccoli is tasty and all but I prefer mine heavily seasoned and dunked in garlic butter. By all means, enjoy your dry ass cauliflower and kale chips. I’ll be somewhere deep frying something starchy and slathering it with cheese, bacon and sour cream.

To all of you in-shape, motivated mothers reading this and thinking to yourself you just have to make time for fitness, I would like to tell you that you are right! I probably could make time for fitness, but would rather spend my time drinking wine, eating Chipotle, and watching Netflix. Sue me! I’m just saying, I work an eight-hour day, come home to cook dinner, make sure the boys do their homework and take showers, put the baby to bed and now you want me to take my happy ass to the fucking gym? And risk catching the latest episode of Love and Hip Hop? And don’t you dare tell me to go BEFORE work! I barely get 5 hours of sleep each night because of my human alarm clock of a child; ain’t no way I’m cutting into that precious beauty rest! Besides, why would I want to be around all of those six-pack ab, tight booty insta-models in the gym when I’m out of shape and my stretch marks are poppin? You think I’m about to sweat out my Dominican blow out and wear some little ass Nike booty shorts? First of all, I have cellulite.

So this post is for all the mommas who are tired. All the mommas who just want a drink. And all the mommas who could make time, but would rather do something else. Because our time is so limited why would we spend it doing something that hurts, makes you sweat and makes you uncomfortable in front of a bunch of strangers? You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m about to wiggle my ass into some damn compression tights and shimmy my way into a fucking sports bra that’s going to take 48 hours to get out of. I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. That. Shit.

If I’m keeping it real, I had time today. I got off of work a little early and I could have actually gone home, got changed and went to the gym. I decided to drive to my best friend’s house and hang with her instead. And by “hang with her”, I mean I drank my life away.

Any mommas out there with mortifying gym stories? Or maybe even words of motivation or some advice for mommas who want to get in the gym but can’t find the energy? Let’s chat!

1 Comment
  • Brittany Jackson
    Posted at 14:30h, 31 October Reply

    I can relate and I am not even a mom! Hilarious!

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