I love working out. I’m an anxious person, and the only way my brain settles is if I exhaust it by one of two methods: overthinking my entire life, or exercise.

Unfortunately, for the past 3 years, working out has been painful. Actually, walking, sitting, bending forward, driving…most things are painful. It used to be that I could push myself to the limits and just lay on the couch for the rest of the day, but now I have a toddler, and toddlers are hard on the old back. Before I had Dot, I thought that the most physically painful part of parenting would be the baby stage, because I would have to pick her up so often. I was wrong. I spend my day bending to keep her from darting out into traffic, to wipe her face or help her put her shoes, to grab a marker out of her hand when she’s trying to draw a rainbow on the wall. I sit on the floor to play cars; I let her ride on my back; I still babywear her when she’s very sad. Parenting is physical work, and my body is basically held together by duct tape.

But today my husband took her out to run in the sunshine, and I decided to try a quiet cardio routine. Some days you just got to get your endorphins however you can. So, I put on Hole’s “Celebrity Skin” and flailed away to a workout video I streamed from Youtube. Celebrity Skin was one of the defining albums of my teenage years. One day you’re 18 and you’re moodily using “a storm in the form of a girl” as your bio for your Myspace page — note to teenage Arley: you were not a storm in the form of a girl; you just have executive functioning issues — and the next day you’re 37 and huffing along to the song as a cheery blonde woman tells you to do one more lunge, that’s it, just one more, you can do it.

But it felt glorious: my heartrate up, the sun streaming in through the window, Courtney Love giving voice to my angst, those exercise endorphins flowing. But then, 20 minutes in, I tweaked my back.

I am a “push through the pain” kind of person. I’m also a “get injured because you pushed through the pain” kind of person. But today, I did myself proud. I stopped. Instead of finishing the video, I did 10 minutes of stretching. Then, I took a series of post-workout selfies, which only confirmed that my lazy eye has gotten lazier during this quarantine.

Arley taking a post-workout selfie in a blue sports bra
Practically an Instagram fitness influencer #LiveLaughLove #Blessed #Gains

I’ve noticed that everyone seems crankier this week. People are tense with one another. Dot hasn’t been sleeping, so I haven’t been sleeping. The adrenaline is wearing off and all we’re left with is this miasma of uncertainty and worry. Has the curve flattened? Will all the jerks who disregarded orders to stay home and not go to small communities for the Easter long weekend spread COVID-19? Will this be the new norm? What will be the new norm? How many more months of this? When will my toddler get to hug her Nana again?

We’re past the panic of the early days and settling into the uncertainty of the long haul, which is its own kind of terrifying. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. And it’s better to do a 20 minute workout and conserve your strength, than to push too hard and not be able to pick up your toddler. Best to do a little workout, then put on your sweatpants and sit on your couch with your toddler, holding hands.

Toddler in pink sweatpants with stars with her hand on Arley's arm.