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.