Mom Bod

I’ve been reflecting on my old fitness routine, before covid and motherhood. For my entire adult life up to March 2020, I worked out four or five days a week. Five days a week. That was what it took to maintain that weight. That was the amount of endorphins it took to keep my lifelong anxiety under control. Three days of cardio (elliptical and running), a couple of days of strength (weight training, Pilates) and whatever yoga I could cram in. For the most part, it wasn’t a hardship. I liked feeling fit and strong. I liked pushing myself. I had the capacity for it; I was used to it. But in the rocks in a jar metaphor of my life, exercise was always one of the biggest rocks. Too many times this year I’ve heard myself saying apologetically that I used to be a really fit person. I’m haunted by voices from the past who would surely say I’ve let myself go, even though I know that’s 1. not true and 2. diet culture/patriarchy.

In any case, this worn-out body has limitations. I never expected to still feel this bad almost six months out from birth. My back hurts from hauling C3 around and residual pregnancy trauma. My knees feel sore and swollen – I keep trying to do squats and cringing. I have foot pain that I can’t trace to any specific muscle, but that makes me hobble when I first get out of bed. My core strength is basically gone. The only positive is that my deltoid muscles, which have always tired quickly no matter what I tried, are rock solid from toting a now almost 20-pound baby. Most days I think, I need a weekly massage. I need daily yoga. I need a physical therapist. Someone please put me back together.

Aside from the physical pain of existing, the adorable baby-shaped rock in my life priorities jar has displaced the fitness rock. My only “free” free time is after C3 is in bed at night. I went to Fit4Mom classes during my maternity leave and LOVED it, but attending the few classes they have not during work hours would really take some doing. I already rely on a lot of help just so I can work. Then I have to reluctantly ask for more help to do special things like attend church, vacuum, or go to the store. Despite that, I’ve gotten a few slow runs in recently, and I was getting into an okay evening routine with the home elliptical that we bought used last year. Then one side of the elliptical started coming off the track. It felt a little dangerous to use it, because I spent the whole time bracing for the impact. Last week, it came off the track twice in ten minutes. I googled for solutions and discovered that once this model does this, it’s just going to keep breaking no matter how many times you fix it. So my main source of cardio is dunzo. I spent the rest of the evening feeling hopeless and frustrated. I’m doing my best, but I just can’t get back on track!

After this had marinated for a few days, I realized… I am not going to get back on track. The track has been disassembled. I have to build a brand new track. I have to stop thinking of myself as a failure because I’m not doing things the same way I did before my world, and the world at large, changed. Who’s saying it was even the best way? It was just what I had always done!! But “before” is over. It’s time to change my approach and my expectations of myself. It’s time to be flexible and open to new options, fitness and otherwise. I’ve generally been in a mood to throw out the playbook and try new things. I might find something even better than Before. I think we could all benefit from thinking about that right now.

My word for 2021 was/is Release, and I’m releasing more things. Maybe I’ll never look the same as I did before… all this, but I look okay even now. Maybe I’ll never be back in a gym multiple days a week. Maybe rebuilding my strength and endurance will be a long process. Making peace with that is not failure. My body grew a person and I already bought bigger pants that I like. Let the trolls come. Thank you next.

(I still need a medical professional though.)