My personal trainers

Everyone knows that exercise is beneficial to your health, both physical and mental. The lists of the beneficial aspects grows daily with some new research or study being released almost every day. I'm not immune to those reports. I work out. Not because I have a weight problem (at least I don't think I do). I exercise five to six times a week because it's good for my sanity. Sure there are associated health benefits, like a stronger immune system and lower blood pressure. Mostly I exercise because I like food, I like to cook and I love to eat. I also have poor self-control when it comes to denying myself certain foods. So I eat, and then I work it off.
However, since I've had kids, I've another reason to exercise. Not to get my pre-kids figure back, because that's a hopeless cause. No, I exercise because it's usually my only alone time that I get on a regular basis.
How do I manage that? By waking up early and donning my sweats before the slumbering monsters start stirring. Although, my children seem to have taken on the roles of being my personal trainers.
There was a time when I was a member of a gym. I would pack my gear, and travel to a gym to work up a sweat. Once Devlin arrived on the scene, the thought of arranging for child care and driving to gym to workout, while trying to schedule the said workout between nursings was too much to consider. So we cancelled our gym memberships and invested in some equipment for our home. (Which now acts as a laundry rack.) I also purchased several work out tapes that I did use. While I jumped around and attempted the intricate footwork, Devlin would be propped up against a cushion, giggling away at my antics. When he got older and developed more neck control, he was popped into the jogging stroller for sessions of rollerblading and runs around the neighbourhood which he enjoyed even more. Sometimes, he even fell asleep.
Then Ceilidh came along. Trying to manage workouts was bit more difficult. I joined the community centre which provided babysitting at a nominal fee. That lasted all of one month. Ceilidh cried too much for the centre's volunteer babysitting staff. At least the weather was warmer so I resumed running and training for the races. Or I bundled Ceilidh into a snowsuit and ran with the jogging stroller while Devlin was at daycare. My spouse and I even signed up for boot camp sessions that were being held down the street.
After Aisling's arrival, I became even more motivated to exercise. The sanity thing, the time away from the kids and the combined factors of age and three pregnancies provided great impetus to getting out of bed, even after a night of much interrupted sleep. I head out the door for a run or to the basement and my library of workout dvds. Most of the time, I rely on my own will power to dig deep and push through the overwhelming desire to crawl back into bed. On other occasions, I have my "personal trainers". There's nothing like a bit of encouragement or critique to get one to run faster or squat lower. I'm not talking about seeing my monkeys at the finish line, clapping and cheering "Go Mommy!". My personal trainers are more sadistic.
During a charity 5k run, I heard a lot of "Go faster!" from the depths of the double jogging stroller that I was pushing. Whenever I head into the basement, Aisling immediately bring over my hand weights and yoga mat. When Devlin was mastering the art of riding a two-wheeler, he would suggest that I run next to him, so that he could "Mommy with her exercising". Which is slightly better than him suggesting that I could work out at the gym next to the gymnastics centre. But the best is from my daughter Ceilidh. While I was doing a series of squat jumps, she was sitting on a chair, wrapped up in warm snuggly blankets. Then she asked, "How come your bum shakes when you jump?"