I stink at regular fitness.
I love a plan (I’m a rule-follower through and through), but the slightest change in my schedule can get me all out of whack and I just quit.
Case in point:
+ I ran four days a week for almost four months in preparation for my first half marathon. After crossing the finish line in May, Mark’s work picked up and I ran exactly twice afterwards.
+ In June, I started Jamie Eason’s Livefit program and lifted four days a week for five weeks. I went on vacation and never started back up again.
+ In August, I started T25, working out six days a week for six weeks. School and soccer season started and – you guessed it – I quit.
It’s been two months of zero (and I mean ZERO) exercise. Today, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my relationship with fitness. The vain part of me obviously wants to lose weight (14 months in and I still haven’t lost all the baby weight), but I’m starting to see that there might be so much more.
Working out provides a way to lose the belly fat and pump up the muscles, sure, but for me, I think it’s bigger than that. When I work out, I feel strong. I feel like I can take on the world! I surprise myself with small improvements: faster mile times, longer planks and heavier weights. When I work out, I can be in my own head for a little bit, which is huge for this introverted mama. I carry myself with more confidence. I’m a better me.
Having a daughter is helping to change how I see myself too. I’ve started to talk to myself like I would talk to Sophie. Would I tell my beautiful, precious daughter that she is too flabby and uncoordinated to be an athlete? Would I tell her that she’d look so much better if only she were three sizes thinner? Never. My sweet girl is perfect just the way she is…I’m trying to believe that too.
So one more time, I’m dusting off and starting again. Here we go.
