Weigh Back…

The year before I had my daughter, I was 29 years old and in the best shape of my life. Granted, I weighed the most I ever had, yet I was toned and super fit. I ran my first (5K) race ever in 25 minutes flat without even training.  I worked out 4-5 days every week and ate healthy food (no desserts). And I wore a crop top or sports bra to work out (in a coed gym- brave!).

**side story!

Once upon a time on a Dominican beach, I was sunbathing topless and my companion had gone out on the sand for a run, leaving me alone in my half-naked glory. I was partially snoozing when a shadow blocked my sun and two locals stood in front of me with a gigantic snake (a python? all I know is it was Britney-Slave-4-U huge) and a camera. They were insisting I get up and take a picture with the snake – yes, the souvenir photo that gets put up on a very public wall that you can order at the photo desk.

I looked around for my (then missing) companion, covered my chest with my hands and sternly said no, at LEAST three times… !!!

So back to the story at hand.  I went back to the gym 4 months after having my baby. Less than halfway through my first Pump class, I got extremely dizzy and nearly passed out. It must’ve shown since the instructor took a moment to come by and ask if I was okay – embarrassing!  I skipped a few tracks and managed to finish the class, but I was sore for the next two weeks.  I was scared to return and when I did, I was just miserable to see such a slow, jiggly shape staring back at me in the mirror. But being as stubborn and determined as I am, I went daily, working my way up to two classes each morning, 5 days a week. Before 3 months’ time, I was back at pre-pregnancy weight.

I managed to keep up my workout regime all summer, until I returned to my full- and part-time jobs. Then I just couldn’t find the time or motivation. I tried to go before work a few times, but that meant getting up at 5 am after finishing work close to midnight the night before. As you can imagine, that didn’t last.

I’m on March Break now and as I type this, I should be getting dressed for my workout (I had pledged to attend every day this week). We’ll see if that happens.  I’m extra tired (I guess staying up til 3 am watching Prison Break didn’t help).

That last paragraph was written on Tuesday morning, and it’s now almost 11:30 pm Thursday. I haven’t been to the gym all week.  As my hubby reassures me, the new-ish introduction of studying has taken precedence over my workouts, and that is nothing to feel terrible about (which of course I do).  It never used to matter if I was tired, ragging, irritated – I ALWAYS made it to the gym.  Now, I have to put it on the back burner and give myself some time to physically, and most importantly, mentally, rest.

I can’t wait too long because, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m running a 10K race in May.  In June, a Spartan obstacle race.  And just yesterday, a co-worker approached hubby and I to form a work team to attempt the CN Tower climb in April.  I’ve referred to myself as crazy before, and I suppose I am, because I’m intrigued by the idea and I’d like to participate.  If not for charity, the street meat vendor in front of the Rogers Centre that I used to frequent when my company was situated there.  He owned this amazing three-nipple-like mayonnaise squeeze bottle and even offered bacon bits and corn.  I digress.

Now I impose upon myself a new challenge which I call 3-4-5:  3 inches, 4 pounds, in 5 months.  The 3 inches I’d ideally lose around my spare-tire of a waist and 4 pounds self-explanatory, well in time for my trip to Europe in 5 months.

I generally find that in the summer, frequent outdoor runs, more sweating, and smile-inducing sunshine help to keep the weight off.  I’m disappointed in myself for slacking, but spring is around the corner and up open the many possibilities of outdoor activity.

Wish me luck.  Until the birds are chirping, however, I’m going to be eating Golden Oreo Cakesters, cashew-and-toffee-swirl ice cream, and other sugary, highly caloric yummies.  I’m only human.