Brace yourselves, this is going to be a long one. But it’s confession time. I haven’t worked out in 3 and some years. Well, that’s not completely true, I do exercise on occasion (twice a month maybe) and regularly check out Pinterest’s workout inspiration boards but I haven’t regularly exercised in three years, which in my book is about as bad as it gets. To go from a former athlete who used to have two workouts daily to a mommy who sits behind a computer for a large portion of her day is quite a change but it happened all the same. And I’m thinking I’m probably not the only one who it happened to.
I can carry my 3 year old daughter on my hip from the bottom of Champs d’Elysees all the way up to Arc de Triomphe (I know this because I’ve done it) but I can barely run for 15 minutes. I did yoga the other day and trying to stay in downward dog for longer than 7 seconds was as difficult as not venturing into a Zara store (just to look!) for a whole month. Both took extreme physical effort from me. I drink 2 to 3 coffees a day along with a Diet Coke and I generally don’t eat breakfast during the week. Instead I spend that time trying to make my face presentable in order to not frighten Lara’s teachers or people at my job. There are days when I only have one glass of water. The whole day. Yikes.
I signed up for a gym two years ago, which cost me quite a bit of money each month for a whole year, only I actually went maybe 15 times. During that whole year. This embarrasses me to tears, mostly because when I think of what I could have bought instead, I want to cry.
All of this is partially due to the fact that for the longest time I was in serious denial about what was happening. I was in denial about the fact that I was in shitty shape (pardon my expression), I wasn’t healthy and that the fact that there was organic broccoli in my fridge and I just made veggie stew didn’t mean jack poop because I felt extremely fatigued 90% of the time. The most common sentence in the adult part of our household is “je suis fatigue” (French for “I’m tired”), and I have dark circles under my eyes that could rival Kristen Stewart’s Bella at the end of Breaking Dawn: Part I (right before she gave birth to her half vampire-half mortal child).
Just because I was once in good shape and considered sports and essential part of my life, I was forced to realize that that part was now over and I needed to start from zero. Only until recently, I still didn’t get it. I’m an athlete for God’s sake, I thought. I can do this. I can still run a 10K without blinking an eye. The truth is I can’t run 1K without blinking both eyes and dry heaving. I had to get real with myself and admit that a.) those athletic glory days are GONE, b.) my will power of those days is GONE and c.) my boobs will most likely never be the same (thanks pregnancy and breastfeeding).
What I needed was help.
One of my friends enlisted a personal coach last year to help her get back on track and start exercising. To be honest, I was skeptical of doing so myself. I never liked the idea of having a personal trainer (I find it all a little too Hollywood), nor did I think I needed one. I can just push myself, I thought. But – and here comes the hard part – I can’t. Not anymore. If you give me the option of going out for a run in the evening or staying home to watch Lara watch Tom & Jerry, draw or play before bedtime I will choose the latter. Every single time. It’s also true that I suffer from extreme mommy guilt and am under conviction that my packed schedule and mission to become one of the world’s super moms doesn’t include “me” time for such silly activities as exercising or eating right. Here’s what I tell my doctor when he asks if I exercise regularly.
If you’re all shaking your heads in disbelief right now, you’re so right. I know this. I’ve just been ignoring it.
Whoa, we’re almost 1000 words in and if you’re still with me congrats because I’m slowly getting to my point.
So, I ended up enlisting help. From a personal trainer. That’s right, I went all Hollywood on you disbelievers out there (including me) and now someone will kick my butt twice a week each week until I can run a 10K without passing out on the sidewalk. I’m also expecting washboard abs, although that may be a bit of a long shot.
Call it a workout challenge if you will, I’m calling it absolutely necessary.
Plus it gives me an excuse to post a few articles on workout clothing and share pictures of myself lying very still from exhaustion on our carpet. That’s what I looked like this week at least.
(T-Shirt via here)