In a rut

Many years ago I was the captain of my high school soccer team. A decade ago my paddling partner and I set our university record for race placement on a national level for concrete canoe. A few years after that I competed in a pair of sprint triathlons and a pile of races, actually placing in 5ks twice in my age group with a PR of 24.06. Friday, I went for a run and failed to complete 2 miles, and after 20 minutes of sloughing down the path decided to call it quits. I felt like crying, it was pathetic. I called hubs but since he's been in the trenches all week at work (got home at 3:41 am yesterday morning only to leave again a few hours later), he had neither time nor sympathy for me.  Today, everyone on Facebook posted their joy about getting into the broad street lottery, which I didn't even bother to register for this year, knowing I have no time or motivation to train.  I feel like wallowing thinking about how, six years ago, I finished that race in 1:24:25.  I would give anything to run one mile in under 8 and a half minutes now, let alone 10 at that pace.  There was even one year I trained for a marathon, managing to get a stress fracture three months into training after a 14 mile run and was never able to build myself back up before entering motherhood.

I used to be an athlete.  Even after Gobbles was born, I went back to playing soccer at 8 weeks postpartum and continued playing until I was 8 weeks pregnant with the Lobster Roll.  But in the past 13 months since my 2nd baby was born, I've gone from motivated mom of two to stressed out schlub who cannot even stick to her weight watchers plan for more than 4 days straight without polishing off a TUB of leftover icing on day 5.  Since I resolved to start counting points again, I have gained and lost the same 5 lbs over a repeated 8 day cycle of strict tracking followed by binging.

I've always had a somewhat strained relationship with my body. When I was younger, the sheer amount of physical stress it went through via sports was a challenge I would push myself through and beat myself up if I couldn't perform as expected. I would take pride in the bruises - battle scars - that would appear after a rough soccer match and talked with pride of my messy ligaments from years of wear on the basketball court.

In late high school and beyond, I began to realize that as soon as I wasn't regularly attending a sports practice, the weight would creep up. I would look at my friends with envy as I realized I was in a different weight class altogether and could no longer hide behind the "athletic" excuse for weighing as much as I did. My relationship with food is totally love / hate, one day I'm a proud weight watchers point counter and the next I'm scarfing down brownies like chips. I've always struggled to find the balance for my body, with the "hate" part of the food relationship always coming during periods of inactivity.  Back in college when sticking to a strict gym schedule, I was in great shape (didn't realize it then of course) and therefore didn't shy away from eating an entire pizza in a sitting, because I'd burn it off the next day. 

I've lamented before about pregnancy and weight gain, but it's crazy that even with two totally different pregnancies, two totally different delivery methods, here I sit after my child's first birthday celebration feeling the same way - weak- and even older and worse off the second time around.  During this 6 year period or whatever it is that I'm spending having kids, part of me feels like I should just give myself a pass and not worry so much about weight or fitness in between pregnancies. But there is a bigger part of me that wants, craves, more than anything to be able to do all the things my body could do before it did what I'm most proud of, give me two beautiful kids.

Five months after Gobbles was born, I declared myself back to "pre-pregnancy" weight. It took me another five months just to lose 8 more pounds to get me to my weight watchers goal. It was around this time I was finally feeling strong again, not getting my butt kicked at soccer, and able to do push ups again without being sore for days. My showing at the broad street run when Gobbles was 17 months wasn't pathetic, but it was 22 minutes slower than my finish pre-pregnancy. I suppose I could chalk it up to lack of training or age, but now after trying to get back in shape after the 2nd pregnancy, I feel like my prime has long since passed.

Part of me is afraid to get back to it hard core because the last time I started working out again, right before we moved, I felt like my C-Section scar would burst open and my uterus would fall out I was in so much pain.  But then I think of my own moods, my snapping at the kids because I'm tired and impatient, my reluctance to get off the couch because the tv is a nice distraction, and that kind of mental pain is so much worse. 

Where is my desire to download some good music and just escape for a half hour, knowing upon my return I will be more focused, a better mom, and just one step closer to feeling good? 

I'm not sure where the motivation is, but I'm looking to get it back.  Last night when I picked up the kids from school, one of the teachers was selling girl scout cookies in the lobby.  I resisted because I know myself and the entire box would be gone in a second.  I told her just this and then started on a tangent about my lack of motivation to work out, etc.  (Have I mentioned before that these teachers double as my therapist too?  They listen to me go on and on all the time about my non-child related problems.  I love these women).  She told me that a group of them have been running 5ks for a bit and that I should do some with them.  So I think I will, because I need something to be held accountable to.  Something to distract me from the scale, which ironically would probably fall into place after I stop hyperfocusing on it and turn my motivation to healthier outcomes.  Heck, maybe I'll even take on a mud run.

So, here's to hoping I can snap out of this rut and get moving again, be a better me for me, in turn making me a better mom for them and a better wife to their father:


<3 td="">

Ohhh, so the reason you wanted to make chocolate covered strawberries was to eat the extra chocolate, huh?