- NO potato chips – okey dokey
- REVISED: one one-hour high intensity cardio session/week and one interval session – I completed the long session
- a minimum of four days/week of 45 minute mindfulness practice – only twice this week
- five crazy body weight challenges to be performed one per week in two cycles – I completed two this week to make up for the miss on week 3; so I’ve completed 5 and now will revisit them in the second 5 weeks
- one ‘legs day’ per week – completed, with much grunting and sweating
Okay, now for the ‘what you don’t know about me’ segment. I wasn’t kidding last week when I said I married my partner in order to avoid being deported. Uh huh.
He was attending a school in the United States for his Ph.D. and I, with the brand new most miraculous babe, remained in Canada awaiting his return.
I quickly developed a strong, persistent and insatiable urge to escape my MIL (sadly, ’tis true). So I quit my job, gave up my lease, loaded everything I owned in my old Chevette (well, some of it was on top) and drove 5 days with a 10 month old in the back seat. (As an aside, the day I drove out of Canada it was 40 degrees below zero, the point where the temperature scales meet).
I was then residing in the United States on a 6 month visitor’s visa. He was on a student visa. I performed services for which I was given an honourarium, allowing me to ‘work’ in a gray area of visa status. I housed us, fed us and supported my partner’s bad habit of mainlining academic knowledge. (This is the set up for the irony to follow)
When the end of my visa status was approaching there were only two choices: I had to leave the country or I had to marry my partner in order to become his ‘dependent’ and have a dependent’s visa. Hahaha.
I went to town hall and filled in the marriage license application. When asked the date of the wedding I countered with a query as to when the license would be ready. Upon being told it would be there in 4 days – Tuesday – I said the wedding was in 5 days – Wednesday.
I then obtained a list of JP’s, called clinics to find the cheapest price for the required blood work (’cause that’s how it is in the United States), got my hair cut and got married.
The plan to have the JP say the three sentences required by law in our apartment was foiled when she realized the town line went through the apartment complex and we lived outside the jurisdiction where we purchased the license. So, we walked across the street to be wed.
For the record? I wore a jean skirt and blouse and sandals and he wore his runners, shorts and a Tee. The couple who stood as witnesses for us, the only people who knew of the wedding, were quite dressed up and were mistaken for the bride and groom when the JP arrived.
Also for the record, we have to pull out the marriage certificate to figure out on which day we got married, or ask my mom, who we told of the wedding a few years later, as we married, it turned out, on my parents’ wedding anniversary.