Gym Wisdom

So, for the past several weeks (months?) I’ve been making an effort to get to the gym more.  My post-baby body has made it clear that it’s happy where it is, and it’s not going down without a fight.  Fine, I’m up for the challenge.  Never in my life have I had to work so hard at losing weight, but if a fight it wants, a fight it will get.

Anyway, after my recent running debacle I thought it best to stick to indoor activities for the time being, so I’ve been making it to my gym fairly regularly.  I have been a member at this particular gym since I was 19.  It’s fascinating to me that even though there have been long stretches of time that I haven’t been back,  I still see a lot of the same people that I did 15+ years ago.  

If I recognize them, I wonder if they recognize me, too?  I am definitely, ahem… curvier since then, and catching those glimpses of myself in the full length mirrors is at times both shocking and distressing.  Are these people wondering what the heck happened to me?  But wait–  a quick look around assures me I’m not alone.  Apparently 15 years of crunches haven’t done that guy much good-  he’s still sporting the spare tire.  And yeah- miss stair climber hasn’t changed a bit, still looks great…  But, whoa– what happened to all of that guy’s hair?   And I see that woman still won’t let the ’80 leotard and sweatbands rest in peace…

As much as I’ve changed from my svelte, karate-kicking days, I have to accept that 15+ years and 3 kids aren’t going to leave me unchanged without some serious effort.  So I’ve stepped up my time & speed on the treadmill.  It’s funny how some things never change.  Like, if a woman is on the treadmill next to a young-ish guy, he will never allow her to run at a faster pace than him.  Even if this means he will be hacking and cramping later, guy pride dominates.   Speaking of treadmills, another unspoken “rule” of which I’ve been recently reminded (the hard way)– never, EVER, under any circumstances, breathe in through your mouth if someone is on the treadmill next to you, or even in your vicinity.  Especially if they look like the type of person who *may* have had burritos for lunch.  (side note, and this probably goes without saying:  Never, ever have burritos for lunch the days you plan on going to the gym.)

Another good rule to live by:  Don’t wear pants in a color that shows your sweat marks if you plan on doing any kind of hip adductor machine (the one that has you spread eagle for the world to see).   Unless you’re into displaying how much your crotch sweats, of course…. which then, by all means, go for it.  However, if you’re not into seeing other people’s crotch sweat (or other fun stuff, if they’re wearing, say, short shorts) then it might be a good idea to look anywhere but in that direction when they’re using this machine or otherwise “thigh mastering”.

So, after a brief plateau, and realizing that those little snacks throughout the day really do add up, I’ve been exercising regularly and keeping a food journal and have started to drop poundage again.  I hated the idea at first of having to log everything I ate, but it really is helpful in so many ways.  Not only am I so much more aware of what and when I eat, tools like the calorie counter on igoogle make it so easy to see how things are adding up throughout the day.  Plus, it gives me the nutritional info for stuff that doesn’t have a label, like fresh fruits & veggies.  And by counting my calories, I’ve also realized that I can still have a lot of things that don’t seem like diet food, like pizza and london broil.  Do I sound like a commercial, or what?

Stretch marks aside, I hope to be fit and MILF-worthy by summer.  In the past month, I’ve shaved a minute off my mile, and I’m even considering doing some local 5Ks.  Take that, baby flab.  Now if I could only do something about the dark circles under my eyes….

Return of The Blob

Like a bad horror movie sequel, I’m back.  There’s no hiding behind the big belly anymore.  The time has come for me to tackle the unfortunate task of reclaiming my bod.  Now that I no longer have the large baby in front to counter balance my butt, I can see it in all its square footage glory, and let me tell ya… it’s not pretty.

Since even the slowest pace walking would set off a series of contractions, I was unable to really exercise much past my 4th month of being with child.  The other day was unusually warm, so I arranged it with superdad to go for a walk when he got home from work.  By the time I got out the door, the sun had already gone down, but no worries, it was still warm enough to go sans-jacket.

I slapped on my headphones & cranked up the iPod.  I had recently synched it up with some sweet new tunes, & I was ready to go.  I honestly don’t know how anyone exercises without listening to good music…. I guess I just haven’t achieved that kind of zen state yet…. Anyway, it (the music) was so good, in fact, that I was feeling like I might actually be able to step things up to a jog.  So, off I went, not at all put off by the fact that I tripped over the landscape edging on the way out, cursing in front of my über-conservative neighbor.

Now, when I say “jog”, what I really mean is “hobble”.  Seriously, there were grannies passing me on their walkers.  And I stupidly went out without a sports bra, so I was forced to hobble with both forearms tightly held against my new set of gadunka dunks, lest they hit me in the face or, worse, the knees… which reminds me– to the person who recently suggested that I’ll probably “bounce right back” after the baby,  let’s just say that while yes,  there was plenty of “bouncing” going on… there was also a good dose of flapping, jiggling, gasping, and maybe even a dry heave or two.

Despite my ridiculous display, I managed to make it a full 30 minutes without stopping.  I was feeling pretty good as I approached the last block on my leg home, when out of nowhere, this really obnoxious section of sidewalk literally leapt up, grabbed my foot, and tackled me to the ground.  I guess the small fire that started from the friction between my thighs was not enough to illuminate my way, and I ended up biting it with two bloody knees, a scraped up hand, and a big ol’ hole in one of the only pairs of pants that still fits me.

Bummer.  At least, since it was dark out, I don’t think anyone saw my complete and utter shame as I picked myself up and, this time, literally hobbled back home.

I must have looked like I just got attacked by a bear in the woods when I limped in the door,  hair halfway falling out of my clip, dried mulch and leaves randomly attached to my clothing, blood dripping from various body parts.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bill asked, half wondering if some other life form had replaced the woman that had walked out the door only a short time ago.

“I decided to go for a jog”, I replied, “I wouldn’t recommend it”.

 

Anyway, the point is…. I survived!  Now I have no excuse, I know I can do it… me and my trusty iPod… which, by the way, here is a small sampling of some of the songs that got my butt moving:  

1. Dr. Yang,  Ben Folds
2. Momentum,  Aimee Mann
3. Honey White,  Morphine
4. Bathwater,  No Doubt
5. Big Wheel,  Tori Amos
6. Los Angeles,  Frank Black
7. Pump It,  The Black Eyed Peas

 

Yeah, they’re not all exactly “current”, buy hey, it’s gets me moving.  What’s on your iPod?