Chronicles of Chaos
Muscles Are Over-rated
After my first pregnancy I worked out. I went to the gym, I did pilates (with yoga the best way to get my stomach looking less um, fleshy), I lived for my weekly yoga class.
My second postpartum was similar, perhaps with less dedication, and definitely less time.
Third time around, it’s been nineteen months and I can count yoga classes on one hand. I did work out with a physical therapist for a few months, we focused more on pelvic area rehab than muscle reclamation.
The best part of my new routine, other than it’s low time commitment, is that I feel no guilt. I just don’t care.
I do have grand plans to recover my college strength and teach Amelia to play volleyball, but that’s four years away. I’ve got time.
I read an article in a free overly-positive parenting magazine about a mom who describes her transformation from a gym rat (her word) to a dog walker. She takes her dog for long walks twice a day and that’s her exercise. She can’t believe she used to sweat it out on the stairmaster to nowhere (or something like that).
Despite my resistance to her cheery tone, I did think good for her, she’s figured it out.
I too have a plan, I’m not doing it, but it’s there. Yoga, pilates and walking. After a year or so maybe I’ll get excited about a new activity, like mountain biking.
At the moment, my arms and legs have a skinny bird look that I coveted in college–definitely that day at the beach when a boyfriend observed, “You’re getting some thighs.” He apparently thought it was a compliment.
I don’t mind the current thinness (which applies to the limbs, and chest area), and I do have strength. It might come from that surreal place that enables moms to pick up large objects like cars that endanger their children, it’s still there.
I feel stronger now, after having kids than I did when I was the most physically fit (12 years old junior lifeguards, we swam for miles in the ocean and ran sprints on the sand).
I admit I worry about osteoporosis. Eventually I’ll have to move on from this cushy limbo between working out to look hot and preventative care.
Or maybe start walking the dog.
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