I went to the pacemaker clinic last Monday for my annual tune-up. In short, this involves a technician sticking a bunch of wires on my chest and stomach and then using a magnet and some software to test the device, leads, and battery. The testing involves speeding up and slowing down each chamber in my heart, which is about as enjoyable as it sounds. The process had just begun when the conversation below took place.
Pacemaker Technician Carol: Do you work out?
Me (laughing): Why do you ask?
Pacemaker Technician Carol: Well your pacemaker recorded a total of 4 elevated heart rate episodes in the last three months. All were between 9:30-10:30am.
Me: Considering I know that is when Dr. Phil is on, I think we can safely say, yes. Yes, I do work out. As you can tell, I'm a real gym rat.
(You know that conversation totally got back to my cardiologist.)
Appropriately, A Little Less of Me Tip #3 is this: Conclude the exercise sabattical.
Every year I take an exercise break from November through January so I can bulk up and hibernate for the winter because things are so harried at work that something has to give. Needless to say, balance is not my forte. Generally speaking, by the beginning of February things have usually slowed enough that I am able to pencil my date with the elliptical machine back in more regularly. Unfortunately, that has not been the case this year. Or, really, last year. Or 2006. But that is beside the point.
However, after my broken heart shamelessly betrayed me last week, I decided the time had come to crawl out of the cave put on my yoga pants and actually wear them to the gym. As opposed to the grocery store, or the gas station, or the mall, or any other location they are frequently on display. I determined that would start on Tuesday.
The next morning all was going according to plan...until about 8:15am when I happened upon a horrific stench coming from Peyton's room. She was swimming in vomit and other revolting bodily fluids. Let your imagination run wild. I assure you that you cannot possibly conjure up anything close to what we experienced together, my Sweet P. and I. (And later the Grandparent Reserves who were called in to join the FUN!)
My week slid briskly downhill from there...until Friday afternoon when she began to slowly climb out of the viral pit. Suffice it to say, between trips to the emergency room, the pediatrician, and our own laundry room, my target heart rate was not in the zone at any point during the week.
(As a positive aside, I will say I have never been more delirious to have this setting on my washing machine. Truly. In the presence of hazardous waste, it makes me very, very happy.)
During this awfully wet and malodorous time at Chez Freshour, I am proud to report that I did manage to take my vitamins regularly. And my birth control pill which is perhaps the most important vitamin of all. This concludes the exhaustive listing of everything even remotely health related I accomplished last week.
Which brings us to this week. Tomorrow, around 9:30am, you will find me and Dr. Phil here.
I can only hope my heart won't explode from the sudden exertion.
(Photo by Molly. Because, surprisingly, I didn't bring my camera on any of the four trips to the gym I've made since October.)
Guess who, after 16-days of adult conversation and fine dining, is flying back home from Hong Kong today? Good-bye expense account, hello really needy 
