I dread the idea of being forced to stay home and not go running or do the elliptical. I hate thinking of the weeks I might be require to lay off the squat machine or the free weights. And, let me say, I miss the gruelling abs workouts I used to do. I miss my (mostly) flat tummy and my ability to do tons of crunches and then do 30-second planks minute after minute in rapid succession.
Why is that? It's not that I'm a body-hating Nazi. I'm impressed that my body can do what it's doing and grow a brand new human being! I'm even more impressed that it's done it with only the addition of a few tiny stretch marks to my hips (which will soon fade into obscurity). But I also derive a very real pleasure out of being able to squat 220 lbs. on the free-weight inclined squat machine, or ramping the weight on the back machine at the gym up to 110 lbs. When I lived in central London, I'd run up through Regent's Park most days, and even when I wasn't at my slimmest (which I haven't been since just after I graduated from Wake), there was definitely a strong neurological reward from checking myself out in the shop windows on my way back from a run in the park. It didn't matter in those few seconds past the bistro windows that I still had a bit of flab on my tummy, or that my arms weren't very toned, or that my calves have always been pretty tiny and not at all muscular-looking. What mattered was that seeing myself mid-stride, pounding the pavement to my favourite music...I looked good. No: I looked damn good. And it wasn't just because I happen to love the sizeable boobs and pert bum that come courtesy of my hourglass figure (though I do love to 'shake what my momma gave me'!)...it was because I knew I was taking care of myself. I was doing something constructive with my body: making it work more efficiently, feel more powerful and healthy, and yes - making it look better, too.
So while I appreciate the uncomfortable, unglamorous miracle of baby-growing, I do yearn for the time when I can once again run 5 miles a day in my Under Armor shorts and a form-fitting self-wicking top. I want to lift weights and climb stairs until my sweat evaporates and leaves those creepy salt deposits behind. I want those things because I know that I can do those things. I've done it before. And it's just part of who I am that I take pride in proving what my body can do. Just like I'm proud of the ways in which I've honed my intellect, or become an emotionally-functional adult, or developed my musical talents - I'm also someone who invests a lot in improving my physical prowess as well. Don't get me wrong: looking smoking hot in a brand new Little Black Dress is definitely part of the appeal of losing the baby weight to embrace life after pregnancy. But for me, looking good isn't that fun unless I feel good and feel fit, as well. And part of being able to feel as fit as I can be - for me - is being able to feel like I can give 100% in my workouts. To feel like I can kick my own ass and walk out of a gym feeling sore and sweaty and tired, and amazing. Yeah, physically, your muscles may be worn out for a little bit, but I always feel energized after a good workout, not enervated.
So yeah, I'm going to sit out the remaining weeks of pregnancy with a bit of impatience and ill-grace. I want a healthy baby, and the risks of premature birth are in no way an acceptable trade for getting my body back a bit earlier than anticipated, but don't think I won't be chomping at the proverbial bit waiting for the green light to get my sweat on.
oh my love...how I miss you...
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