B is for BodyPump

Today was the day I finally braved the gym again - for the first time since I was about 7 months pregnant. Going to the gym with an extra 30 pounds because you’re pregnant, comes with looks of admiration from others and the feeling of confidence from myself. Going to the gym with an extra 30 pounds when you are not pregnant carries with it the feeling that you are simply like every other overweight person in the gym, a month overdue on their New Year’s resolution. When I go anywhere else, I have the baby with me and one of two things happens. 1. Nobody notices me (or the maternity clothes I am still wearing) because of the gorgeous nugget in the car seat I am carrying or 2. Everyone sees that I just had a baby and everyone understands. Today, I walked in the gym alone, 30 pounds heavier than I want to be, and in really tight workout pants.

Vulnerability at its finest.

I didn’t just go to the gym. I went for BodyPump. For those of you that have taken this class, I could stop here and you would feel my pain. For those of you who haven’t, I just ask that you trust me when I say that tomorrow will be spent avoiding stairs, and chairs, and toilets, and anything else that requires me to bend my legs – at all. My body felt ready today. Tomorrow, I will be reminded that it is NEVER really ready.

Just as I mentioned in my last post, I am open to the idea that with change, great things come. And I don’t necessarily think it comes in the most obvious or suspecting ways. I am aware that going to the class today was the right thing to do and I do appreciate, simply, that I am able - but something bigger happened as I put my mat away and walked toward the door to leave class this morning. In came a flood of senior citizens that had been waiting outside the room for our class to finish so theirs could begin. They were early and eager and pushing their way through to find a spot to plant their silver sneakers for the next hour. They had smiles on their faces and they were focused and ready. They all had a good 30 years on me and suddenly my 30 pounds seemed more than manageable. I walked out of the gym smiling and grateful and tried to visualize myself walking in a gym 30 years from now, inspiring an insecure 36-year-old mother of three to suck it up.

As I finish this post, I can hear my daughter talking to her papa downstairs. I can hear him telling her it is the most beautiful sound in the world. My aching back, tight pants, and messy house seem a small price to pay. Everyone should be so lucky.

A is for Apple

OK, OK. I am back. I made excuse after excuse for keeping this process on pause – seems to be the theme, after all. I am done with excuses and ready to push play.

The longer I put something off, the harder it is to jump back on. I know I can’t possibly be the only person who does this, so I will assume that all is forgiven and I have no need to list for anyone the convincingly logical reasons behind my absence. Not that I was missed, but since the idea of accountability is one that is meant to motivate me here, I have tricked myself into believing that this is being read by someone other than me.

Yes, I read my own blog.

I have survived pregnancy, childbirth, and am now enthusiastically caught up in the whirlwind that takes the shape of a very petite and vocal three-month-old human being. If I thought I had a hundred viable excuses for not doing what I should or could before, I now have at least a million. That being said, it is time to start tuning out those voices and begin to conquer once again.

Drifting off to sleep…

Middle of the night feedings…

Sucking wind on the treadmill…

These are the moments that my finest and most well-intentioned voices speak to me. I write entire chapters to a book that is beginning (still…) to play itself out beautifully. I redesign my career and where I want to be utilizing my gifts five years from now. I plan the next two weeks of workouts needed to speed this ridiculously tedious process of losing the baby weight (although she weighed a mere 6 and ½ pounds, making it difficult to use that term without feeling like a total idiot). And I begin my blog again and again and again, fulfilling the promise to myself to write everyday. If only these moments would transcend themselves… They never get any further than my thoughts.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

I’ve been told I give pretty good advice and one of my favorite tools of motivation (second to screaming in someone’s face) has been to convince people to start small. Each day, make a single new change. Drink water today, go for a 15-minute walk tomorrow, clean out your linen closet on Saturday. Not long ago, someone offered me the same advice. Somehow it sounded more reasonable coming from…..well, not me. I have never started anything small in my life. This continues to be the reason there has been much that I haven’t started at all. The less I do, the less I do. It is a vicious cycle. As Dr. Phil would say, “How is that workin’ for ya?” Rhetorical. Obviously.

I’m open to change (even in tiny bits) and to the idea that with each day that I embrace it, a better me will emerge. Let’s put this theory to the test. A-Z. Not all in one day anymore, but one a day. Like an apple.

Eating one now. Check.