I usually try to exercise in the morning when the kids are still asleep. It’s the one peaceful window I have before the chaos starts. But every now and then, I slip up and think, Hey, I can just work out later tonight. It’ll be fine. And then I’m reminded—so clearly and so painfully—why that’s a terrible idea.
Take last night.
I skipped my usual morning run because I’d done a 17-miler on Sunday (yes, I’m that kind of person), and I was feeling a bit achy. I still got out for a walk to keep my insulin sensitivity in check and figured, Hey, I’ll squeeze in an elliptical session tonight. I can totally juggle that and the kids. No problem.
Oh, silly, silly Brian.
I had a solid plan. Dinner was made and everyone was fed. Owen was playing at the neighbor’s house, and I had his BG on Sugar Pixel. Kendall was in her room animating something amazing (she’s going to be—and frankly already is—a fantastic animator). Peyton was upstairs in full video game mode. Everyone was occupied.
I even remembered to turn on Exercise Mode on my Omnipod about 45 minutes in advance—a small miracle. I headed down to the basement—what we “serious athletes” call the Pain Cave. I laced up my shoes, grabbed a snack, and climbed onto my trusty Facebook Marketplace elliptical ($100 steal—worth every squeaky revolution). I queued up a triathlon video on YouTube (yes, weird—I’ll admit it. I can’t sit and watch other people race, but I can watch while I’m exercising. Somehow that makes it inspirational and not weird).
And off we went.
Ten minutes in, I heard that familiar, soul-piercing call:
“Daaaad, I’m bored.”
I paused my show and slowed my pace. “What would you like to do?”
“I dunno.”
“How about you work on your new puzzle?”
“Okay. Where is it?”
I raced upstairs, helped Peyton find his puzzle, and raced back downstairs. Great! Back to the elliptical. Triathlon back on. Heart rate rising again.
Five minutes later.
“Now what?” asked the youngest.
“Can we jump on the trampoline?”
“Sure.”
“Can we make it a water trampoline?”
Sigh.
Off the elliptical again. I checked Owen’s blood sugar—he had some insulin on board, so we got him a snack, disconnected the pump, packed the pump and phone in a waterproof bag, and slid it under the trampoline so we could keep Dexcom readings on Sugar Pixel.
Water on. Kids bolted out to the trampoline. I returned to the elliptical—now dark and dead. Progress lost.
Ten more minutes in.
“Dad, can I talk to you?” Kendall.
“Sure,” I said, sweating and already regretting everything.
She launched into a frame-by-frame breakdown of her favorite animator’s latest video. “Can we watch it together?”
“Absolutely… after I finish?”
A reluctant nod. Back to the elliptical. Triathlon queued up again. Let’s do this.
“DAD!”
“What now?!”
“There’s someone at the door, and they need to talk to you!”
“Who is it?”
Silence.
“Peyton?”
Crickets.
Off the elliptical. Upstairs. It’s my neighbor at the door.
She took one look at my sweaty, wild-eyed face and asked, “Exercising?”
“Yes,” I panted.
“We’ll chat later,” she smiled. She gets me.
Back to the basement—just in time to keep the elliptical from shutting off again. Victory!
Eight minutes later.
An alarm blared from Sugar Pixel—the dreaded Dexcom symphony of off-key horns signaling a low.
Owen’s blood sugar was dropping.
Off the elliptical again. Up to the kitchen. Grabbed grape juice and a Pop-Tart. Out to the trampoline. Everyone freeze. Owen: drink this, then eat this. We waited, then waited some more. (Neighborhood kids know: if Owen goes too low, trampoline time ends.)
Finally, back to the elliptical. Which had turned off, again.
Restarted it. Restarted the triathlon. Restarted my will to live.
Five minutes later:
Beep! Beep! This time it was me. My blood sugar was climbing—probably from all the stopping and starting. Not ideal, but I could still salvage this.
Back at it. Elipticalling like a man on a mission.
Ten minutes later:
The front door slammed. A stampede overhead.
Off the elliptical (again). Upstairs. Found three soaking-wet boys in my living room, toweling off with a dozen tiny washcloths they pulled from the closet.
The TV was blasting. They were yelling about their favorite YouTuber’s new video.
This is my life.
I sent the two friends home. (My own son had to stay—unfortunately, he lives here.) Got Owen into the bath.
“Dad, do I need to change my site?”
“Yep, we sure do.”
While he bathed, I prepped a new cartridge. As soon as he was done, we slapped on a new infusion set like a Formula 1 pit crew.
I raced back downstairs, just wanting 15 more minutes of exercise.
Elliptical: off again.
Of course.
I sprinted on that thing like a madman for 12 minutes, knowing bedtime was fast approaching.
As I stepped off, Kendall asked, “How’d your workout go, Dad?”
“Grea.” (I couldn’t even finish the “t.”)
“Can we watch the animator video now?”
“Of course we can.”
So yes, a perfect reminder of why I try to exercise in the morning. When the house is quiet. When the chaos is sleeping. When I can finish a full workout without needing snacks, towels, insulin, or Pop-Tarts