I went for a run today. Well, really it was more like a slow jog but the point is that I finally got off my butt and did something. I felt good about that but I’m still finding it so hard to not beat myself up all the time. My husband has to constantly remind me to be easier on myself and lighten up a bit. The thing is that before I got pregnant, I ran 5 marathons and did 2 triathlons along with countless other races throughout the year. An easy run was usually a 6-miler at a fairly respectable pace. I always imagined that I was going to be one of those women that would continue to run throughout my pregnancy, stopping only when I was days away from giving birth. And of course, I believed that I would take a couple weeks off after having a baby and then get right back into the whole routine. So confident was I that I even registered for a marathon that would be taking place 5 months after Peanut arrived.
Well, none of that panned out. Pregnancy kicked my butt and I spent most of it in a state of exhaustion. And then motherhood kicked my butt (and continues to) and I still spend most of my days in a state of exhaustion. So, my lofty dreams of being a super fit mama have gone the way of my dreams of owning a fancy house in Napa. I know I’ve already posted about this before but this seems to be an ongoing problem for me. Still, I’m trying to stop whining about it and instead I’m going to do something about it. So I’ve dusted off my running shoes, squeezed myself into my workout clothes and refamiliarized myself with my iPod and the last 3 days, I’ve gone out and jogged.
I should be proud but every time I have to take a walking break, I’m reminding myself how I used to be able to run miles and miles without stopping. Every time somebody passes me, I feel embarrassed. And when I have to stop after only a mile because my legs are tightening up, I can’t stop berating myself for what I’ve become. But I have to keep reminding myself not to say these things in front of Peanut because we’re trying so hard to teach her self-acceptance. We want so desperately for her to feel comfortable in her own skin and to not always think about what she isn’t. I tell my daughter all the time what a good person she is and how she doesn’t need to be anybody other than who she is, even if she’s too young to understand. So why can’t I learn this lesson myself?