Moving. I don’t recommend it for the easily anxious or anyone with a full time job who hopes for any moment of post-office R&R (unless you can pay someone to move for you of course, and then you’re just living the dream).
Moving requires the patience of ice fishing with the strength of those televised steroided men who pull trucks down the street. I, unfortunately, still have not mastered either of those arts, although have certainly been tested these past two weeks and, thankfully, managed to come out with a, not perfect, but certainly passing score.
There’s something about the combination of all the emotions mixed with the actual physical act of packing up an entire home that is just beyond-my-wildest-dreams exhausting.
I train at the gym, Soul Cycle weekly, have climbed many mountains, and pilate-d with ease, but somehow throwing my clothes into a box, and hauling it down three flights of stairs easily trumps them all.
Last week el fiancé and I moved from our 940-square-foot condo to a 1940’s beach house that’s been in my family for years.
It’s the most exciting thing that’s truly ever happened to me, other than my shiny left hand accessory and little French-bulldog-bunny Balu… but boy has it been WORK!
Prepping, protecting, packing, taping, labeling, stacking, carrying, trucking, (repeat carrying), placing, opening and then some organizing quickly turns this into a full body workout.
We’ve got cardio and weights all in one (check, check), mixed with intervals of extended and prolonged activity (check, check, check).
Am I grateful for the experience, and the unintentional ironman workout? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Ideally not any time soon. But if you need a hand from someone whose looking to lose 30 more lbs., and is a pretty great closet organizer, you know where to find me.
I could and did – only thanks to my ever-strong mantra of “I Can, I Will, I DO”.
With only three broken dishes, and enough empty boxes to make the most epic kids fort ever.