I usually clean the bathroom on Mondays (despite numerous attempts at spot cleaning, it seems like I genuinely need to bust the bathroom down at least once a week). Our bathroom has all the original parts that were installed when the house was built: original tile (wall and floor), bath, toilet, sink and fixtures. We've added some things to it and gotten rid of other things but overall, the bathroom is fundamentally unchanged. And it looks every bit of its 70 years! Our bathroom is extremely functional. Everything works the way it's supposed to. It's been through the bitterest of winters and the most extreme summer heat and it's still working. But there are signs. Cracks. Crevices. Some tiles have fallen out. We've tried to re-grout and all that but really, the bathroom just needs to redone. (Hopefully, next year will be the year. It would have been this year but after a terrible storm, the water just started pouring into the house which meant the roof took precedence.)
Anyway, this morning I saw the before and after pictures of a woman (with kids) who had completed P90X (we're on the same message board). Amazing. Yesterday, I was doing Chalean Extreme and Chalean pointed to a woman who has 7 kids. Like physically birthed 7 kids. Amazing. I mean, there are *no signs* that these women have had children.
It got me down. I mean, I'm thrilled these women look so great but I have to say, it throws me for a loop emotionally. I look at my toned legs and toned arms and back and the work I've put in is evident. I look at my midsection and . . . it doesn't look like I've done much at all. I can see and feel the muscle in my midsection but covering all that muscle is a layer of seriously sagging skin that as far as I can see will never snap back. And it doesn't look good.
So I get sad sometimes. I feel like my bathroom! Yes, I am fully functional and can do all these wonderful and necessary things but this part of me just doesn't look good and, most likely, no amount of cardio or strength-training is going to make it look better. It could be genetics. It could be that I wasn't eating optimally during pregnancy. I wish I could say that it's probably better than I think but I've worked up the courage to show two (non-hubby) people and they both said, "Well, you could have surgery." But in my gut I know I won't ever do that. I don't have anything against cosmetic surgery but I couldn't see myself voluntarily signing up for it (at least that's how I feel right now--it may change). So it's something I realize that I will have to accept. And I am. Slowly. But every so often, I can't help feeling bad about it. I can't help feeling grossed out when I am doing push-ups, planks, or cat/cow pose and I look down to see the skin just kind of swinging around. Actually, it's kind of funny and ridiculous and I have learned not to look down.
When I'm scrubbing the bathroom, I sometimes think how pointless it is: no matter how much I scrub, no matter how much elbow grease, time and effort I put in, things will never gleam or sparkle. But I keep scrubbing because even if it doesn't look sparkly and new, it will be clean. I suppose that's my philosophy when it comes to fitness too: even if it doesn't look super tight and pulled together, it will be strong. It's the only thing that keeps me going on those difficult days.
And there you have it: you can indeed come up with profound life philosophies while doing housework!