family · fascism · fitness · protests · snow · winter

Braving the cold, looking on at our neighbours to the south in horror, sadness and fear, and taking comfort in food

It was a wild weekend.

And I find I can’t even begin to write about our outdoorsy fitness activities without mentioning the horrors of the fascist government south of us.

I’m also very aware these days that although this blog is based in Canada and almost all of our bloggers are Canadian (Catherine and Mina are in the United States), the majority of our readers are American.

So this post flip flops between what we’re doing and what’s going on, because that’s kind of how my life feels these days.

Some normal life and life activities,  working and working out,  cooking,  and playing cards with friends and family alternating with reading,  watching, and listening to political news that’s pretty horrifying. I’m thinking of American friends and colleagues with love and fear.

I’ve been away working in Ottawa last week and will be there this week too. Sarah and I are spending time in the middle at the farm. We were with family and some of Mallory’s friends here on the weekend.

Saturday was freezing cold. Sunday was a snowstorm.

And in the midst of it all ICE shot and killed a young nurse who was helping a woman during the protests in Minneapolis. Alex Pretti, 37, was pushed to the ground and shot 10 times. We’re all horrified.

Read about it here.

So it was a fun weekend but it was also a hard weekend as we worry about what’s happening in the United States.

Saturday was so cold that I considered staying in.  But I also felt the need to get outside in nature,  in the fresh air,  in the sun,  no matter how cold it was.  So we went for a hike in our snow shoes and even though it was pretty chilly,  I felt better afterwards. Sun helps. Movement helps. Company helps.

I understand why the people of Minnesota are outside protesting in the cold temperatures.  I’d be there too.

We’ve also been cooking lots of familiar comfort food: veggie chili and cornbread,  general tsao tofu and rice with broccoli,  scrambled eggs,  French toast,  soup and grilled cheeses.

It wasn’t all old and familiar.  We did try the viral two ingredient “cheesecake” that’s been making the rounds.

Also, I read this in The Atlantic about what’s going on politically in the United States: “Yes, It’s Fascism: Until recently, I thought it a term best avoided. But now, the resemblances are too many and too strong to deny.”

Here’s a gift link. I recommend it.

And here’s a photo of Sarah,  Susan,  Mallory,  and me frolicking in the snow.

One of the social media threads that made me smile this weekend was people listing online communities that don’t normally talk about politics that are now full of angry anti-ICE speeches.  From road cycling reddits, and nail polish sites, to porn user groups, and bird watching forums, people are saying that enough is enough.

Here’s two examples:

I guess we’re adding feminist fitness sites to the list.  To be fair,  Catherine has posted about the horrors and the protests already from the perspective of someone on the inside. She’s a US citizen,  working and living in the Boston area.  See Not-very-wordy Wednesday: When all else fails, go to the library and Civic action, costumes, dogs and steps, too: just a regular Saturday.

If you want to do something to help the people of Minnesota,  but you’re not sure what,  here’s a list of places to donate.

“Minnesota is under occupation by federal agents from ICE and CBP, and we need your support. Across Minnesota, ICE continues to stop, harass, and detain people regardless of their citizenship status. Normal life in Minnesota has been interrupted, as schools have been forced to close or go virtual, as people live in fear of leaving their homes or going to work. Minnesotans are organized and activated to respond to this violence. But they need our help. “

family · fitness · holidays · season transitions · swimming

Catherine’s new intention for 2026: more swimming with kids

I rang in the New Year (technically, the day after) in a way I heartily recommend: swimming with a friend and her toddler! My friend Rachel and I took her daughter Teagan to a local hotel pool that offers day passes. It’s pretty cold here in New England, and the hotel indoor pool offers a respite from freezing cold temperatures outside and cramped play spaces inside.

When we got there on Friday, there were about five kids in the pool horsing around, with a group of fully-clothed parents lounging and scrolling on their phones. We went into the locker room to change into bathing suits and headed into the relatively warm water.

Teagan isn’t a swimmer yet, being a few weeks shy of 3 years old, but she loved the water, and she loved playing with us. Favorite activities included:

  • Jumping from the side of the pool into the waiting arms of Rachel or me;
  • Bring hurled through the air (well, sort of) between Rachel and me in the pool, making a big splash as she landed;
  • being swirled in a circular motion, clockwise or counter-clockwise (she didn’t express a preference) while squealing, laughing and splashing;
  • blowing bubbles in the water;
  • watching us blow bubbles in the water;
  • pretend/sort-of-actual swimming, with a bit of assistance;
  • bobbing up and down, kicking her feet but not making any forward progress (which bothered her not a whit)
  • being wrapped up in multiple towels, including my rainbow beach towel.

I got a decent upper body workout, lifting, holding, and catching her, as well as working on my high-speed circular swirling technique. And it was very good for my heart. And soul…

Here’s a picture of them enjoying the pool. I was the photographer this time. I expect my participation to be documented in future pool explorations (of which I hope the next is soon).

Teagan (on left) and Rachel (on right). Both very happy.
Teagan (on left) and Rachel (on right). Both very happy.

When my youngest nephew Gray (now 20) was born I looked after his two older siblings (5 and almost 3) for the first few weeks while my sister was getting settled in with a new baby. Our most joyful outings were to the pool– there no one was sad or grumpy or tired or bored. We splashed and played and hung out and ate snacks and enjoyed the water and each other. Honestly, is there anything better?

This winter season, if you’re feeling in need of a pick-me-up, borrow a kid or a friend or take yourself to a pool. Splash around. Do a handstand underwater. See how long you can hold your breath. Dive for random objects thrown to the bottom. Oh, and don’t forget to bring snacks and fluffy towels, too.

dogs · family · fitness · functional fitness · vacation

Catherine’s May has been a month on the move

May is usually a time of transition for me. The school term finishes and I ease into my summer schedule, which often includes travel to see friends and family, occasional conferences, and summer-at-home activity and projects. This May, however, I’ve been running (and driving and flying) around. Last week I was in Vermont with a friend, hanging out, doing some work, and petting the resident cat Kasper. This week I’m in South Carolina, staying with my sister and seeing my mom and other family.

My sister’s kids are out of the house this week on their own travel adventures, so we are taking advantage of the quieter time to hang out together and also knock out some home improvement tasks. Her wish list includes the following:

  • replace IKEA wardrobe doors
  • paint IKEA wardrobe sides to go with new doors
  • buy new bed and mattress
  • get rid of old bed and mattress to complete transition
  • paint bathroom one
  • paint bathroom two
  • buy and install IKEA standing shelf unit for bathroom two
  • paint upper kitchen cabinets
  • miscellaneous car maintenance for her and kids’ cars

My list for the week includes the following:

  • Take walks with dogs
  • Take walks along river paths in Columbia
  • Take walk to see spider lilies at nearby state park
  • Finish watching Hacks TV show

My guess is that we will achieve some from her list and some from my list. We have already made some progress, having gone to IKEA right after she picked me up from the Charlotte, NC airport and scoped out possible purchases. And last night we watched several episodes of Hacks.

I like domestic activity, I like visiting my family, and I’m looking forward to this week. I’ll update y’all when I get back (my flight takes me home on May 31). Then my actual summer will begin…

A patch of Rocky shoals spider lilies; hoping to see some later today!
A patch of Rocky shoals spider lilies; hoping to see some later today!
death · family · feminism · fitness · illness

The Heartbreaking Work of Parental Care

This winter has been hard. My dad was diagnosed with late stage cancer just before Christmas. Then my mom fell and broke two bones at opposite ends of her body. Until now, they have been each other’s primary caregiver (when one was needed), but now they are both struggling.

Mom and Dad still live on their own, in a house with stairs. Luckily it’s only a half-hour drive from my house. And luckily I channel my anxiety into cooking, so they have been well stocked with easy-to-reheat favourite foods. And care services have been great, with a nurse, personal support workers, physiotherapist, and even someone to clean the house.

Still, I have been very busy taking them things or helping them with computer issues, driving them to appointments (and managing their calendar), or just sitting and keeping them company. Thank goodness I retired last summer.

I’m not exactly part of a sandwich generation, as my own kids are grown, but the feeling of being pulled in multiple directions is very real. I love my parents and I’m glad to support them as much as I can, but it is physically and mentally exhausting sometimes. Despite my cheery post yesterday, I am struggling to fit in time to take care of myself.

The newness, the rawness, and the pain of caring for someone who will never get better has me breaking into tears far too often. My dad has been the best feminist ally a person could ask for. He has always been so supportive of mom, my sister and me, and is so proud of my daughter. He was a wonderful role model for my son, who has grown into a feminist husband and father.

I try to tell myself that this is the normal cycle of life, and that Mom played the same role for Grandma (Dad’s mom, who moved in with them for the last few years of her life and died at home). I’m deeply grateful that my parents ensured my sister and I are financially literate, and that they have all their affairs in order. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be dependent on someone all your life, and then suddenly left to deal with taxes, banks and bills, and maybe the loss of income.

Normally I would end a post with some sort of jokey anecdote or clever final words, but all I can think of right now is something a colleague said to me over 30 years ago. His father had just died and he said the death wasn’t the hardest part. His father had lived a long life. It was realizing you were no longer someone’s child, even if you were already in your 50s. I’m not ready to stop being a child.

My parents on their wedding day, in 1961.
body image · family · fitness · kids and exercise

Kids, cartwheels and (dress) codes: three things that don’t go together

How many of you out there used to do cartwheels when you were kids? I certainly did (with varying degrees of success but unvarying degrees of fun). Maybe some of you are still occasionally flying across space, arms and legs akimbo, in which case, yay for you!

As we have discussed at great length on this blog, physical activities often feel more comfortable with the right gear and clothing. For playing around outside, jumping and leaping, cartwheeling and handstanding, reason and experience dictate shorts, sweats, or leggings along with tops, preferably not too baggy (so as not to interfere with movement or vision). Makes sense, right?

Not according to a public charter school in North Carolina whose dress code required female students to wear skirts to school and prohibited them from wearing pants or shorts.

Yes, the school authorities really did say their dress code was designed to promote chivalry and traditional values.
Yes, the school authorities really did say their dress code was designed to promote chivalry and traditional values. Am linking to definition, as most of our readers are not medieval knights.

Oh, I forgot to add that the actual quote by the charter school founder (reported by one of the plaintiff’s mothers) was “Well, to promote chivalry, because every girl is a fragile vessel.” 

Hmmm. Just to confirm that I’m not the only person stupefied by this anwer, I googled “fragile vessel” to see what he could’ve been referring to.

Google clearly has no more idea than I do. None of the images offered up were of girls, either in pants or skirts.

Seriously, though: the messages that dress codes send can have a profound effect on our identity and our behavior, says ACLU Women’s Rights Project Director Ria Tabacco Mar. In an interview with my favorite comedian/activist/dad of three girls, W. Kamau Bell, she says:

Dress codes, unfortunately, can often be the site where we are teaching students what it means to be appropriate, what it means to be a girl, what it means to be a boy, that those things, those parts of ourselves are relevant to how we learn. 

And what do our children learn when they are subjected to extreme sexist and racist dress codes? Here’s Tabacco Mar’s answer:

 Our children are listening. This is what kills me. We’re talking about young children. With our skirts case, when we started, our youngest client was going into kindergarten. She was five years old. She’s in high school now. She wears pants. Spoiler, they all wear pants. We won. That’s the good news. But even at five, she knew. She picked up on the message. So nobody was using the word “chivalry” to a five-year-old. Probably she didn’t know what that word meant. But she knew that the message was that boys and girls are different. The boys are better. The boys can move freely in the classroom. The boys can sit crisscross applesauce and girls have to sit with their legs to the side. The boys can do cartwheels at recess and girls have to stand on the sideline chatting.

…People often said, “What’s the big deal about skirts? Did you really have to sue them over it?” Well, if the skirts are not a big deal, then why didn’t they change the dress code when we asked them to? Because it is a big deal. It’s communicating really important messages about what it means to be a student — what it means to be a boy, what it means to be a girl — and it’s teaching us that those things are relevant in ways that they, frankly, should not be. 

Bell’s interview with Tabacco Mar includes discussion of other dress code cases, many of which send racist, sexist, anti-trans, homophobic and xenophobic messages. You can read or listen to it here. There’s a lot to digest, and the issues they discuss reveal a bigger picture of injustice.

To focus back on a small part of that picture: the main message I want to send kids is that it can be GREAT to be one. One of the big advantages of being a kid is the license to explore the world using the abilities and senses their bodies have. Not all of us do cartwheels. But denying kids the chance to flip around because they’re stuck wearing a dress is, well, just silly.

Speaking of silly (this time in a good way): if you would like a tutorial on assisted cartwheels, and in fact a double cartwheel, look no further than below.

Readers, I wish you comfortable clothing and some leisure time to explore the world, your bodies, and fun with both. Let us know if you have cartwheel or other fun movement stories to share.

family · fitness

Family vacation: the same and also different

Some places just have magical properties– they excite us, calm us, soothe us. I am now in that place for me: a small beach called Litchfield in South Carolina, where I’ve been going since birth with my family. My grandfather Womack had a beach house here long ago, but it was partly washed away in Hurricane Hugo in 1989. The family ended up selling the house. I’m still sad about this.

Since then, we’ve rented a variety of places, but settled on a condo area with great biking paths, swimming pools, fabulous beach access, and lovely marsh and wildlife all around. We’re here now, having arrived yesterday (with lots of others heading to their favorite spots, if the traffic is any evidence).

We went to the beach first thing. Here’s proof:

We also went out to dinner, to celebrate my oldest nephew’s birthday. We’ll be doing the same for his younger brother next week. In the meantime, here’s our plan:

  • swimming
  • biking
  • beach walking
  • napping
  • some game playing
  • eating (out and in)
  • deck sitting
  • idle chatting

However, since we haven’t done those things for me to report on to you, I’m reblogging another such outing 6 years ago. The kids were smaller, but we did approximately the same activities. If it isn’t broke, no need to fix it.

Until next time…

competition · cycling · family · fitness · Guest Post · racing · running · triathalon

I cannot NOT do this (Guest post)


By Janet Tufts

I was a proud “Dickie Chick.” One of a threesome of sisters, with a dad named Dick, who participated relay-style in the 70.3 Ironman in Muskoka in 2017. One sister swam the 1.9k, the other sister biked the 90k, and I ran the 21.1k. (That’s me on the right.) 

The Dickie Chicks. Janet is on the right.


I remember flying past runners who were doing the full slog, calling out “just doing the relay” so they wouldn’t feel bad. As beaten up as they looked, I was strangely envious of their extra sweat, grime and grit. Fleetingly.

Running prevailed and I started to get serious about it. I raced for personal bests and prizes and bought a Garmin. About a year ago, I noticed my runs were turning into countdowns: 9k to go, 6k, 5k, 4k, 3k, 2k, done.I was also getting unnecessarily anxious before races, even before speed workouts. (Ridiculous!)

A few months ago, my oldest son announced a goal to do the Muskoka 70.3 Ironman to mark his 40th birthday.

And there it was—that fleeting feeling from seven years ago. Me? An Ironman? The feeling started to linger. It started to grow.

I did some research, talked to a few experts. Before long, I’d gone way past doing the 70.3 in cottage country at age 64. I was fantasizing about being at the 2025 Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Spain on November 8, 2025, at age 65. 

I kept things to myself. I was afraid that if the words came out of my mouth, I’d be committed.

Uncertainty swept in. I hadn’t swum lengths in four decades, not to mention my childhood trauma over cold water.

In a bold moment, I called a personal coach—Ryan Power, as good as they come. I was surprised he was keen to take on a 65-year-old female novice. You know what he said? He said that he’s currently working with seven athletes right now and two are over age 75.

Well then.

He said that an equivalent to qualifying for the world tri championships is qualifying for the Boston marathon, which I’ve done twice. 

Well then.

It’s in the cards, I said to myself. I was ready to let it out of the bag. Now I’m committed.

What has gotten into me? I prefer simplicity. What can be more complicated than a triathlon watch, or a fuel plan to sustain 8 hours of work?

I don’t really like spending money. In the last 20 days, I have spent at least $2.5k, and according to Austrian triathlete, Clément, I can expect to spend another $3k to get myself geared up for competition, and then $2.9k in every year to follow. (Not including things like Spain.)

A bike covered in tri gear.


Worst of all, I can’t figure out the leg action to clip out of the pedals on my new road bike. 

“You’ll want to clip out with your right leg,” said the bike specialist, “so you can lean away from the traffic.”

But my right leg wasn’t working. Forget the traffic, I thought, I’m using my left.

Last week was my first official week of training. Don’t tell Ryan, but after day one, I had a stiff back. After day three, I had a bruised elbow from banging the lane ropes. And on day five, I added a scraped knee to the old bod from tipping over on my bike. (I’d clipped out—yay—but forgot to use the brakes.)

It’s week two. I can hardly wait to get going again.

Will I make it to Spain? I have no idea. But I like picturing myself crossing the finish line. If that gives me joy and motivation and a good reason to hop out of bed every morning, then why not try. Anyway, I’m 64; I can do whatever I want.

Is that the point of this endeavour? That I’ve reached the age where I can do whatever I want? Let’s think about this.

I cannot get too excited and talk about my new hobby too much or people will think I’m bragging. No one likes a braggart. Humility is the much-preferred trait, especially in the family I married into.

I cannot let myself get too exhausted. Yawning through social gatherings is equally as unattractive as bragging. And I need energy to continue baking bread, concocting hummus, and creating grandkids’ birthday cakes (another source of joy).


I cannot let my new hobby negatively impact my 42-year marriage. I cannot consume our travel budget around races; I cannot get too obsessed because that’s hard to live with; I cannot cram the drying rack with any more workout clothes; I cannot let this interfere with happy family traditions; and I certainly cannot expect a cozy night on the couch livestreaming tri championships. It’s not golf, after all.

The cannots add up, and they’re hard; I think about them all the time. But I cannot not do this or I’d be short-changing myself on something my gut is telling me to go for. Who cares if I get a little excited, exhausted and obsessed? It’s nothing that a new drying rack can’t fix. Or a glass of wine in Spain.

Lots of athletic wear on a clothes drying rack.

Janet Tufts’ bio

With over 30 years of local, national and international experience in the non-profit and public sectors, Janet is currently enjoying semi-retirement, balancing a part-time role as Executive Director of Operation Walk Canada with her love of reading, writing, baking and moving. Previously, Janet served as the Executive Director of both Big Brothers Big Sisters of London and Area and the Canadian Medical Hall of Fame.  


From 2016 to 2018, Janet spent two years in Malaysia as a member of a multi-cultural team that led the government’s implementation of their blueprint for public school transformation. Janet holds a Master’s in Business Administration, Bachelor of Education, Bachelor of Arts, and a Professional Certificate in Communications and Public Relations. She has served as a director on numerous boards, and is currently a board member of St. Joseph’s Health Care London. Janet embraces any opportunity to be part of a humanitarian mission and to date, has been to Southern Sudan, Peru and Ecuador. 

family · fitness · walking

A Walk to Remember

It’s blustery. It’s cold. There’s a struggle to zip up playground-stained mittens over synthetic down jacket sleeves. Our daughter, 5, accepts the lovingly crocheted scarf that I’ve wrapped around her neck. I look at her, satisfied with her bundled body, and proudly watch as she sets off, walking up the hill towards her school with her dad. She will be protected and warm, I think to myself. My pride sinks slightly as I watch her grab the scarf and tuck it under her chin, exposing her sweet cheeks to the frosty air.

It’s bright. It’s warm. The sun streams through the window, highlighting the living room furniture. My family bounds with natural energy.  Our daughter, 6, comes down the stairs arrayed in patterns. Floral pants, a graphic t-shirt, and a speckled sweater clash in a medley of colours and fabrics. Confidence beams through her eyes, and I smile affectionately when she caps off her outfit by stretching mismatched Monsters Inc. socks over her pant cuffs. She insists that she won’t need a jacket, but I make her bring one in her backpack just in case— after all, Alberta is known for its unpredictable climate.

It’s sopping. It’s wet. The rubber boots are too small. A self-proclaimed water-resistant pair of yellow combat boots is the only option. Our daughter, 7, zips them up and ties the aesthetic-only laces, excited to be wearing them. Internally, I worry that she’ll catch severe illness if her toes get wet and remain so for the duration of the school day. I throw an extra pair of socks in her backpack. She hears my instruction to put them on if her socks get wet. I’m sure she forgets her affirmation upon reaching the sidewalk.

A rainy walk to school.

A man and his young daughter walk up a rain-soaked sidewalk. The man is wearing all black and looking down affectionately at his daughter. The daughter is holding a speckled umbrella above her head.

When we bought our house at the bottom of the hill, one of the highlights was its proximity to the local elementary school. From the date of purchase, I envisioned uphill walks filled with dreams for the day ahead and downhill returns replete with tales of recess and the classroom.

We are three years into my daughter’s elementary years, and our reality is not far-off from these visions. For the most part, my husband walks our daughter up to the school before walking to work, and I get the privilege of walking her home.

Our walks are filled with learned moments for all of us. The trudge up the hill has been enlightening as we speak the wisdom of physical exercise and mental perseverance to our tired children. Admittedly, walking up a snowy hill in snow pants and boots really descries the concept of “an uphill battle.” Although she sometimes complains about the walk, I am thankful she gets to learn these difficult lessons gently. Walks down the hill are my time to learn as I listen to what fun and affliction look like to her generation.

When I pick her up on the snowy days, she is dressed in much less fabric than when I sent her out the door. Her mittens are lodged in her backpack, buried by her scarf and often her snow pants. Minus 20 degrees Celsius hits kids differently than it does us adults. On our walk home, if I suggest she put on her winter accessories on our walk home, she will insist that she’s “boiling.”

On warmer days, I watch her burst out of the school doors, beaming like the rays of the sun. Often, she is just in a t-shirt, even if the temperature would support wearing a sweater. If she does exit the school in a sweater, it is bound to end up draped on my arm on our walk down the hill.

When an umbrella is warranted, I arrive at the school to find her splashing in the puddles and her backpack sitting in one. Are her socks wet? Yes. Have they been wet all day? “Mostly,” she responds humorously and then continues to skip joyfully down the soggy sidewalk.

Our family candidly enjoying a walk by our local river.

A family of four way away from the camera. From the left there is a man, a young girl, a younger boy, and a woman. All face away except for the young girl who is looking delightfully at her younger brother. It is a beautiful day with a blue sky and green grass.

It is not lost on me how fortunate I am to work from home and spend these precious moments with my daughter (and son, since he’s three years younger and often in tow). I have had the privilege of watching her grow from running ecstatically to me at pick-up to dropping her backpack at my feet and racing off to join her friends in the schoolyard. She tucks her socks under her pant cuffs now, and I would be lying if I said that I didn’t mourn it a bit. I take solace in that she still often chooses unconventional outfit pairings. I am safe from the loss of this innocence for a while.

Each year, her personality changes like the weather. There is no predicting who she will be as time meanders on. What I do know is that I’ll be proudly watching as she grows and adapts to what each season brings. Of course, I’ll have many suggestions for her, but I know she’ll find her own path. All I can hope is that she welcomes me and her dad on the walks with her up and down the hill for many more years. And with each passing season, I will hold close to my heart the memories of releasing her in the mornings and excitedly reuniting in the afternoons. Each walk will be a walk to remember.

Stephanie Morris is a transcriptionist and writer based in Alberta, Canada. She is a wife, a mom of two, and a newcomer to the career-writing world. As a fancier of history and literature, she aspires to blend the two in fiction and nonfiction pieces. To follow Stephanie’s writing adventures, find her at @words.and.smores on Instagram.

223 in 2023 · family · fitness

Catherine meets her 223 workouts for 2023 with time to spare

Well, it’s happened. I didn’t know if it ever would. But this was my year. Yes, I’m talking about finishing my 223 workouts in 2023 challenge without frantically rushing around the block multiple times on December 30 or grimly doing bridge exercises in my living room. But, on December 22, I made it: hit the 223 mark!

A stick figure with thumbs up saying go me!
Go me!

Yes, I know this news isn’t of tremendous import: I wasn’t the first over the line, and it was Dec 22 when I met the goal. But: this was the first year since I joined the challenge group in 2018 that it went so smoothly. Every other year, I had to plot and plan to get the workouts in over the holidays so I could finish up by Dec 30 or 31. All that last-minute hustling left me feeling foolish instead of glad or proud. Not good.

A blue smiley face, frowning, and caption of poor me!
Poor me!

But that didn’t happen this year. What was different in 2023?

Looking back, I see a few changes. The main one is that I sought out or let myself be pulled into group activity. This sounds simple, but during the pandemic many of us shifted to more solitary workouts. I thought that would go well for me. It so didn’t. Turns out I do much better in groups, even groups where I’m the least fit person.

Also, I traveled more in 2023, seeing friends and family, going to conferences, doing a little touristing even. Again, I wasn’t a solitary self for any of these trips; I was accompanied by friends or family, who swam and walked and cycled and did yoga alongside me. It was fun. More often than not it was low-key as well– just getting outside and enjoying ourselves.

My sister and niece with the dogs, accompanying me on workout number 223.

This year I tried to say yes to more outings with people, to worry less about my fitness and instead to focus on spending time with people whose company I enjoy. And those people often like to move around in space (including water). So I went with them, and enjoyed myself as well.

Finally, a big shout-out to Nature, for being there all the time, ready to accept our visits. None of this is news to any of us, but heading out to green spaces, preferably near water, smooths out the rough edges of anyone’s day. Here are a few highlights from workout #224, done yesterday with family.

I expect I’ll rack up a few more workouts before year’s end. But I’m not sweating it. And that, my friends, is news to me!

Dear readers, how is your end of year activity going? Are you getting out there? Staying in? Looking to bust out of a relative’s living room to stretch your legs? Running after dogs or kids? I’d love to hear from you.

family · fitness · Guest Post

A Pattern Emerges (Guest Post)

Two weeks ago, I went lane swimming for the first time in a long time. In my last blog post, “All Lanes are Open,” I commented on how I often let my excuses overtake my need for physical exercise. I left the pool that day hoping that I would have better self-discipline going forward. While I did think about swimming more, I found that fitting another session into my schedule was still difficult. In fact, I haven’t fit another one in yet.

However, this is not a self-deprecating post. I may not have succeeded in getting to the pool, but I still got a workout in. Only, it wasn’t in a gym, on a track, or in a studio. It was in a house. And no—it wasn’t an at-home fitness program.

Last week, my mom and I set out towards the small Albertan town where my sister had moved. Our goal? To help her clean her new place so she could begin settling in. When we arrived and saw the little two-bedroom bungalow nestled on the large property, we were giddy with excitement. It was a house with character. Inside, wood paneling and mismatched trim adorned the walls. Vinyl flooring ran throughout the house with some newly replaced planks poking up in attestation.

The door on the floor leading to the storm cellar.

The highlight of the mid-century home was the proper storm cellar situated in the floor of the laundry room. The heavy floor-door revealed a series of six-inch-deep stairs that led to a surprisingly high-ceilinged cellar. Here housed the furnace, a work bench, some smaller pieces of furniture, and, of course, cobwebs. Thankfully, there was a sliver of a window to ease claustrophobia.

What does this have to do with fitness? We had to clean the house. All of it. I’m talking dusting the walls, washing the walls, scrubbing the baseboards, doing all-the-above to the floors, disinfecting the bathroom, degreasing the kitchen, and deodorizing everything. Then there was dodging flies while vacuuming up their deceased friends from windowsills. It was an intense workout!

To tackle it all, we decided to divide and conquer. I declared myself in charge of the bathroom, doors, and windowsills. My mom and sister tackled the main bedroom and living rooms.

Have you noticed the abdominal workout that cleaning a bathtub provides? If you’re like me and refuse to stand in the bathtub while cleaning the surroundings (because—gross), then you’ll understand the shoulder stretch you get from reaching across the tub. It is a must to engage the core muscles to avoid back injury. Then there’s the up, down, side-to-side motions. Thankfully, cleaning the basin portion offered a relieving stretch along the lower back as my glutes lowered me into a squat.

Then there are the mystery group of muscles that are featured in cleaning toilets that are situated close to walls. I had to be deliberate in my movements, keeping my muscles obedient to ensure I didn’t bend carelessly around the bowl. I certainly did not want to pull a muscle on my first task!

Cleaning the vanity and mopping the floor—and re-mopping it after my sister’s boyfriend walked through with boots to change the light fixture—concluded my bathroom workout. Next were the doors. Now, that is a good squat routine!

Our trio reconvened to tackle the kitchen which, fortunately or unfortunately for me, provided a similar full-body workout as the bathroom and doors did. Arms were favoured in scrubbing out cupboards. Legs and core were the primary targets of the lower cupboards and the space behind the appliances. Even with all three of us tackling it, breaking a sweat was easy come by. We happily took advantage of water breaks.

The three of us in front of the house post-clean.

Amid the scrubbing and polishing, us girls got to talk. We’d laugh over cloths, asking each other which one was for soaping and which one was for rinsing, and asking ourselves why they were all the same colour when there were other colour options. Even though we were too busy and too tired to talk about deep things, we all felt content just being around each other.

Doing life together is a value that I hold dearly. If I had it my way, I would do everything with at least one person present, even if it’s reading in silence. Having this extroverted viewpoint does often stifle my ability to self-start my fitness routines, but it’s a part of my personality. Companionship ignites my spirit.

I did feel more sore in the days following the cleaning than I did after swimming, but I still experienced the same gleeful energy as I did at the pool. The joy from working out alongside two of my favourite people made me realize that hard workouts can be completed without mental burnout. I can leave tired and wake up sore and still want to do it all over again. I thought that feeling was reserved for passionate fitness gurus.

I seem to have a pattern emerging. My fitness journey finds success most frequently when I execute it alongside something my soul loves. In the pool, my love for the water propelled me forward. At this house, it was my love for my mom and sister.

While I wait for my next lane swim or deep-clean day at a friend’s place, I’ve decided to come up with a list of things my soul loves and see if I can pair them with a physical activity. Maybe I’ll try hopping on my stationary bike and watch train-wreck reality TV. Maybe I’ll go for a long walk-and-talk with a friend. Unfortunately, I have yet to come up with an idea where I can read or write while exercising.

If you have an idea for me, please let me know in the comment section below. While you’re at it, let me know if you are a solo-fitness person, or an extrovert like me who prefers having someone else’s energy come alongside.

Stephanie Morris is a transcriptionist and writer based in Alberta, Canada. She is a wife, a mom of two, and a newcomer to the career-writing world. As a fancier of history and literature, she aspires to blend the two in fiction and nonfiction pieces. To follow Stephanie’s writing adventures, find her at @words.and.smores on Instagram.