Mother Runners

I don't want this to turn into a weight loss blog because it's too much pressure.  In any case, it is part of my life now and over this past weekend these "steps" to losing weight have evolved into - gasp - running.

Let me just say, I HATE RUNNING.  If you see me running, it's a good bet that something scary is chasing me or I am going to miss my plane.  When I was in school and we had to run the mile, I somehow managed to get a note from my doctor excusing me from doing it.  I sat on the bench and watched those other suckers huff and puff around the track.  I felt it was less humiliating than coming in last.  Back in school I was a small girl, but far from physically fit.  I ate junk food and didn't exercise, and it was only when I got to my late 20's that this started to catch up to me.  Being in radio gave me a crazy schedule, a weird diet, and a larger intake of alcohol than ever before.  The drinky-poos may have finally been the thing that brought on the bloat.  Or, it could have been the fact that my drinks of choice were Sex On The Beach, Colorado Bulldogs, and Mudslides.  Not exactly "Skinny Girl" cocktails.

I hear there is a runner's high once you get past a certain point.  I have yet to glimpse that.  I can understand the sense of accomplishment when you start running further distances.  Kind of how I will feel when I can zip some of my jackets again.  SO many moms are taking up the running trend, and taking it further (and crazier) by participating in Mud Runs with obstacle courses and of course - mud.  Lots of it.  I've seen pictures from a color run, where apparently you run across puddles with color in it that splashes all over you.  I don't know if this is supposed to make running more appealing, or just give you physical evidence that you did it, but whatever works!  If it would help, I'd start one of my own, where you attach a pole with a string over your head and have Taco Bell dangling in front of your face.  But I don't think too many people would sign up for the Mexican food runs... 

Anyhoo... The reason I started running over the weekend was just to save time.  My trainer at Rejuv Medical told me she was assigning me just cardio until our next session, no weight training.  Hubby and I had to work opposite schedules quite a bit this weekend, so rather than waste time driving across town to get on a machine at the gym where I'd be doing nearly the same thing, I decided to just hit the pavement and see how far I got.

My 7-year-old daughter saw me putting on my tennis shoes, asked what I was doing, and immediately wanted to come with me.  I had been looking forward to listening to some music and having my thoughts (I hate this, I hate this, I hate this) to myself.  But she was so excited, I couldn't turn her down.  She did great, and it actually made the run sort of fun because she distracted me with her excited little girl chatter.  She asked why exercise is good for you, asked about how the leaves change color, and pointed out every squirrel that scurried by.  One run down.

The next day, my 7-year-old, my 5 1/2-year-old AND our 6-year-old neighbor girl wanted to come with me.  There is a reason you don't see serious runners have children trailing after them.  My 7-year-old decided to be Narrator of the run.  "Look at my mom running.  She needs to get exercise.  My mom is embarrassed right now.  My mom loves the color turquoise.  My mom didn't want to take the dog with because she thinks he would want to chase squirrels.  My mom still has kind of a big tummy because my brother was in there for so long."  My 5 1/2-year-old wanted to hold hands with me and although on any other given day she has more energy than I have in a week, she pooped out about a half a block into it and would only walk.  The neighbor girl stopped abruptly in front of me and bent over to look at a dead worm.  I almost plowed us both over and stopped myself from exclaiming something that sounds similar to "mother runner!"  It wasn't much of a run, but it was an adventure, and we eventually made it around the loop. 

I haven't given up.

The Weight Of The World

When my first baby was born, I loved her more than the universe.  

(Not my actual baby.)

What I didn't realize was, by making her my world - I put myself way out in orbit.  I felt like everything I did had to be centered around her, always, and if I spent time or money on things just for me, I was being selfish.  Pretty soon, I was like a vacant house.  My body became overgrown, my hair went untended, and the only thing that I cultivated was resentment.  Overall, I just felt stuck.  Baby #2 didn't help things.  Life was becoming a blur, and although I wanted to find joy and I loved my husband and our daughters, I felt like a drudge.  My job is to be funny and know what's going on in the world, and although parenting gave me plenty of funny poop-on-my-shirt stories, those only go so far. 
 

Over the last couple of years, it was like I found myself again.  I gave myself permission to just be 'Amy' sometimes.  I am still home a lot, but I have a better balance.  Having another baby hasn't had the same effect that my other babies did.  (My hair isn't looking all that great lately, but I guess something's gotta give when you get up between 3 and 4am for work and have 3 kids.)  The point is, I'm more relaxed now, I spend time with friends, and have actual grown-up shows that I watch and occasionally I go out and stay out past 9pm. 

Yesterday, I went to the gym for the first time since my baby boy was born.  This is something that isn't easy to fit into my schedule, but I know I need to do it for myself.  Now that the baby factory is closed for good (sorry, Grandmas!), I really want to get in shape and stay that way.  I'm not the heaviest person in the world, but I know when I'm uncomfortable in my own skin.  My personality changes and my self-confidence plummets.  I try not to make a big deal about it because I don't want my little girls to develop body image issues.  But it's not very fun when they ask me if I have another baby in my tummy!

 

While I was there, two older ladies chatted with me while we were on treadmills, telling me how great they think it is that I'm ALREADY working out since having my baby.  At first, this was just a nice distraction from the timer on the display and my huge fear of treadmills.  (I swear, I'm going to trip and fly off the back!)  But then, it was amazing to talk with them and have them validating what I was doing.  For one of them, this was the first time she had worked out in 16 YEARS.  And they also told me how much they applauded me taking the time for myself to do it while my children are young.  They both told me stories about how many years they went without taking care of themselves, and how they wished they could go back and do it all over.  This is in contrast to another older woman that I met last year.  I'll never forget her sad look as she told me her husband is away a lot for work, her son was grown and had moved out, and she didn't really have any girlfriends - just her cat.  She said everything she did, she did for her son while she was raising him and never developed friendships or hobbies.  As much as the kids are the center of my world now, someday they will move on with their own lives.  I will always love them more than the universe, but I don't want to be left behind without a life of my own that's full and satisfying.  I felt so great after talking with these ladies at the gym, it was like I'd already lost 10 pounds. (I wish!)