I don't usually post much about fitness, mostly because there is nothing tangible that I have to show for it.
Though I've grown really interested in fitness and it has become a huge part of my life, it isn't really my place to say much at this point--- I am light years ahead of where I was, but way behind where I want to be.
Lately, however, I've been reading a lot of threads on facebook from mothers who want to lose weight and get in shape--- but say that they don't have the time to do it.
The sheer amount of responses from people in the same situation commiserating with one another is an indication of how common this problem is.
I posted a comment response one day in yet another thread about it on facebook that was poorly received by most people in there. What I said was: "I understand how hard it is. You will feel better if you just. do. it."
Let's just say that wasn't received very well.
And what I read in response to my comment, I realized, was a literal flood of excuses....excuses I've been guilty of making myself in the past.
Hence this post.
Before I begin, let me just repeat that I used to be that mom. In fact, on down days, I still am!!
So much.
I truly understand the struggle.
Maybe more than others. ;)
Do you relate to this great picture of normal motherhood? I do.
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| This is motherhood, in a nutshell. |
My husband works long hours, and is often gone for days at a time. When he is home he doesn't "take over," to alleviate my duties much. He's not what I would call "easy-going," and requires a lot from me.
I have a lot of kids and they are all really young. They also require a lot from me.
We don't have any money for gyms or babysitters. I don't drive. We don't have a lot of equipment.
In the past, on most days, I could hardly get my teeth brushed in the morning or take a five minute shower, without someone getting injured or destroying my house, let alone carve out an hour, or even ten minutes to "take care of myself."
(I'm exaggerating, of course, but these were my thoughts when I was really low.)
The days dragged on, but somehow time passed so quickly. The baby weight stayed. There was never the time to do anything about it.
My husband began to get frustrated. The weight was not attractive on me.
He and his friends have always led a very healthy lifestyle. They get together and work out. They work out at work. Supplements and nutrition are a normal part of their daily conversation.
They have favorite bodybuilders, something I always thought was lame and weird, to be honest. I didn't think muscles were interesting or worth spending time on.
But it was clear I was slightly depressed and basically felt like a robot in my daily life.
Where he and his friends were basically pretty happy, inside I was hurting at the suggestion that exercise was the answer to my problems--- I hadn't WANTED to be pregnant over and over again. I didn't love much of anything about being a young mother of many with everything that goes with that. Didn't anyone care about what I did want??!
I was determined to embrace motherhood, but to be honest, it felt just a teeny little bit like hell itself.
And then here was the real struggle: the absolute LAST thing I wanted to do was to make a priority out of exercise. Exercise, in my mind, was punishment. It was more hell, not less.
It was something I needed to do in my five minutes of precious free time-- but not something I wanted to do.
In fact, it was something that I hated doing, that I felt made me miserable and was hard and uncomfortable.
I didn't want to sweat. I didn't want to change my clothes. I didn't want to go run. To be perfectly honest, all I wanted to do was collapse and wake up when my kids were older and my husband was happier to see me, or hide in the pantry and eat chocolate.
Most women seem to agree with me. There are more posts about fitness from men than women in my newsfeed on any given day, and WAY more posts about accepting fat and imperfections from women than men. We just don't seem to WANT to exercise.
When I thought about it, I did want my husband to respect me more, to love me more, and to want to spend time with me more, but I wanted it to be for "who I was," (which, btw, wasn't who I was when he married me, right? I was significantly larger, grumpier, and more tired, lazy, and whiny.)
I also wanted to enjoy my kids, and not feel drained by them. I wanted more energy. I wanted time to myself. I wanted to reach some personal goals. I wanted to have more confidence and fewer tears. I wanted to rewind life and be young again. I wanted some peace and quiet. I wanted to stop time-- maybe even to rewind it.
Here's what I learned when I finally gave up and started doing it: Exercise is the fountain of youth.
It is a confidence builder. It is the healthiest and most beneficial form of "me time." It will give me the energy I crave. It is a powerful form of meditation. It boosts my mood and relieves my pains and aches. It is an intellectual and spiritual pursuit, as well as a physical pursuit.
It reminds me of why I'm alive. It heals me. It gives me time to think and gets me away from the chaos and craziness of regular, daily mom-life. And most importantly, it teaches me some powerful lessons about life: that everything I want to achieve requires sweat, patience, dying to myself, and perseverance. Slowly it is becoming my place of peace.
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| Enjoying a quiet morning run in nature. |
No magical thing happened when I finally admitted that I had been weak, lazy, and wrong.
I didn't suddenly find the financial means to join a gym. I didn't find a perfect babysitter who I trusted and was free. I didn't suddenly discover that my hopes of losing all that baby weight with a 20 minute yoga video twice a week were founded in science. No. Nothing got "easier."
Except my attitude. And my strength.
I had made resolutions year after year, just like everyone else. I had told myself I would just give it a try for a day, a week, a month. And then stopped.
I'd give it a half-hearted attempt (like, five pushups) and then collapse. I'd tell myself I was doing OK for "a start." Then I'd skip it for a few days.
I had told myself that yoga was going to be my thing... the thing that worked. And I would do it, and love it. But I couldn't escape the other aspects of fitness that yoga wasn't addressing.
I still needed it, it wasn't going to be as enjoyable as a yoga class or as sitting on my butt on my couch, and I knew it.
Thankfully, it turned out that God was on my side because I also have a husband who is a bit of a pain and who pushed me. A lot. The instant he saw me take ANY interest in exercise, he would begin to push hard.
He would come home from his night shift and say to me: "get dressed, I'm going to take you over to the river trail for a run." There is no arguing with that man. (Believe me, I've tried.)
After many years of this, one day, out of desperation, and even out of anger...I tried it his way.
And it clicked.
The first few days I was surprised to learn that I felt good, but it wasn't a habit. A couple weeks later, it began to become a habit, but I noticed that I felt worse. When I felt worse, I didn't want to exercise.
This is normal--- but it felt like everything conspired against me. Every time I would make a small amount of progress, something would happen to stop me in my tracks. I began to despair. I wanted immediate results. When I would experience a wall, I'd just give up, and my husband would get frustrated. I could tell he'd almost given up on me, and I'd be tempted to give up on me, too.
After a while I got resentful, too, because the only time I could find to work out was after everyone, including he, had gone to bed.
The resentment affected my relationships and the lack of sleep affected my emotions.
I've always need a push to get moving on stuff that doesn't "feel good."
When I was younger, my brother, intent on joining the military, would fling me out of bed and scream at me to move faster as I ran down the street in his company. He'd pile rocks in two backpacks, strap them on our backs, and then leave me in the dust, where I'd complain about being hot and tired while he'd do laps around me. In Basic Training my drill sergeants were so frustrated with me. They knew what I was capable of, but found that motivating me was almost impossible. Unless there was a fire under my butt, I wasn't going to do anything I didn't want to, not even for the US Army, and I nearly became the only private to graduate BCT who couldn't even do a dang pullup on my own.
My husband has the same problem. He can't make me work out. I have to want it.
So unless I was spending copious amounts of time in research mode studying up on motivational fitness ideas and methods I WANTED to try, I was a blob on the couch. It just wasn't "me."
I had to learn to give that up.
And in doing so, I learned an important lesson: motivation is half the battle.
One night I learned that a celebrity I had always admired and who happened to be extremely fit had had the same kinds of hold ups. His physique was amazing and I had always assumed was something that had come to him naturally.
That night, I read in an interview that he had had to be pushed every step of the way (Sound familiar?) and all of the tremendous things he had overcome along the way humbled me.
Eventually he learned that the only way that fitness was going to happen was if he worked and did things he didn't enjoy or feel like doing.
He had often had to work out at 10:30 at night, after exhausting trips and tours, and long after everyone else was asleep. Eventually, the hard work payed off and today he is famous for his singing ability, and even more so for his physique-- which prompted his encouraging, positive attitude and work ethic, which in turn have made him a dedicated husband, father, and friend, and a powerful witness to godly living.
It reminded me that my husband has the same story. He wasn't naturally fit, but in exercise he had learned many important life lessons, and he had found a lot of healing from the difficult things life had handed him when he was a child.
The more "success stories" I read like his, the better I felt about exercise. I stopped feeling so alone. I stopped feeling like the whole world was against me, and instead I started feeling like I was part of a family of the strongest people on earth. Super-humans.
And they were actually all around me. My neighbors. My co-workers. People I passed on the street.
Instead of tearing me down and making me feel inferior like I had thought they would, time spent with people or reading about people who were extremely fit always built me up and encouraged me not just to win at fitness, but at life.
I learned I didn't actually hate these fit people all around me. I admired them--- and with good reason. And the harder I tried, the more bonded we were, even though I'm not even CLOSE to where they are at in the physical realm.
Yet.
I started to find motivation in the funniest places-- in fitness professionals who had obviously reached success in their goals and overcome a lot to get there. I started following bodybuilders-- both men and women-- who posted about their fitness experiences on facebook and twitter, and reading their blogs.
It was weird, at first, because these were people I used to find actually physically repulsive, but I found amazing encouragement in their stories.
All of them had achieved incredible things with dedication, hard work, and persistence. Many of them had found healing from their past.
And they really found joy in sharing those lessons with others, which in turn, helped bring a little sunshine and light to the world around them.
This gave me the strength to keep at it.
I wanted my kids to admire me like that one day, too. And I wanted my husband to be proud of me.
Still, every single step felt like work. Sometimes it was fun work, but many times... it was still drudgery.... at least before I got started.
And then one day, it happened.
I randomly weighed myself (I had not been weighing myself regularly on purpose, so as not to get discouraged) and learned I had lost a lot of weight. 20 lbs!
I went shopping and realized I was down a couple dress sizes for the first time in years.
In the mirror, I started to notice definition in my muscles where before there had been none. I could see muscles I had no idea I had. Definition was appearing! It was so exciting!!!
My successes were really funny at first. I wanted to tell everyone, but at the same time, I couldn't believe they were things that I was dealing with.
The flap in my lower belly where pregnancy after pregnancy had left it's mark was suddenly lifted, instead of hanging over.... leaving me with great hope that it would one day actually flatten out and disappear. (ewwwww!)
My breasts, which had sagged from the heavy weight of nursing endlessly suddenly started sitting a little higher.
Picking up my baby was easier. And I could wear jeans again!
I discovered I had never, ever lifted with my legs, or squatted to pick something up and wondered where these movements had been all my life.... they were so helpful! Suddenly tasks around the house were less drudgery and became easier and even more fun. They hurt less and were over quicker.
A short while later, I again sustained a couple of serious injuries due to exercise.
Then came the failures.
For a time, the injuries felt like they had stopped me in my tracks. I let days and even weeks go by without doing anything of value in my workouts. I even stopped working out altogether. I stopped eating clean.
The weight came back.
I realized that exercise-- like life-- would always be like this. There would always be something.
I couldn't let that stop me. I had to keep pressing forward, making progress, being patient, being consistent. Admitting mistakes, learning from them, and letting them go. Working hard.
Just like homeschooling.
Just like housekeeping.
Just like my career.
Just like my relationships.
Just like my faith.
As I write this, I have a problem in my bicep which is relatively serious and is preventing me from even normal activity, let alone lifting weights. I am also having a problem with my ankle.
Now, instead of being depressed that I have to workout, I'm finding it extremely depressing not being able to work out. I'm also finding that I cannot allow myself to be defeated.
I've been sitting on my butt crying about it for a few weeks now.
But the truth is, as I write this, that though my bicep may not be working at the moment, my legs are. I can wiggle my toes. I can always do something. This bicep problem has felt like my undoing but in reality, I just need to assess the situation, develop a strategy, and continue to make progress.
No excuses.
I'm at an age where I'm starting to see that health is not a guarantee. I watched my grandfather and my father in law die of cancer. It was horrific. I am seeing friends and acquaintances who seem perfectly "normal" and healthy have heart attacks. Awful. On a practical level, I don't recover from a long night as quickly. I don't feel as "ready" when I wake up. I worry if my body can handle "one more baby." I'm in my thirties.
If I hadn't done it before, it's definitely time now to take my health seriously. I want to be around for my grandkids!!
In writing this, I realize I have been a little harsh.
I had to be because I am preaching to myself as much as to the rest of you.
Exercise is hard. It is painful.
It is intense. It causes suffering.
But like everything else in parenting and in life, you have to get past the suffering to see the glory. Those who don't even try will never know the sweetness of success. Those who don't make efforts consistently will not see the value of effort in itself. No effort gets no results. There are no excuses for not making an effort. These things are all true--- and only those with great strength to overcome hardships will believe me, because they are the ones who will try.
Don't have that strength? I didn't think I did either.
But you can't be awesome unless you DO something awesome.
There was a day this past winter, where I found myself starting a run at 7:30 in the morning in below freezing weather. I was cold, and I was furious, because my husband had dropped me off and nagged me to death about going even though I hadn't wanted to go. Now here I was, alone in the woods, and I had two hours to kill before he'd be back. If I wasn't going to freeze, I could either run home or run the woods, and since I didn't want to see him, I chose the trail.
I ran because I was cold.
As I ran, I picked up speed.
As I picked up speed, I got hot, and took my sweatshirt off and tied it around my waist.
There was no one on the trail for miles.
Suddenly, I realized there were two figures up ahead.
Embarrassed because I hate running in public, I realized they were two special forces soldiers. (I live in a military town.)
They were also running, and in shorts and tee shirts, despite the weather.
Instead of laughing at me as I had feared they would (I always think people are laughing at me when I run in public) I was surprised to find that they congratulated me. And smiled. One of them told me I was brave. They even looked back at me as if they thought I was attractive.
The thing was, I wasn't brave! And I was certainly NOT attractive.
I hadn't wanted to be there, I was grumpy, I couldn't feel my face, and I was just taking one step in front of the other. I was sweaty and smelled bad. I was wearing frumpy clothes because they were comfortable to run in.
But when I passed them, it hit me.
I may not be strong, or tough, but I was alone on a trail in freezing weather, running, and the only people running with me were SF. I wasn't in shape, I wasn't good at it, but I was just doing it. And I was the only one doing it besides them.
This changed my attitude tremendously. I began to see that those guys didn't get tough because they were just born that way. They had trained themselves there. They had worked tirelessly... in the cold, in the rain, when they were sick, when they were tired.
And it had been worth it, because when I had passed them on the trail, even from a distance I had said to myself: "Uh oh. Those guys are huge. Those guys are tough. Those guys are powerful."
They had never really had my respect just because they walked around with certain badges on their uniform. I see that every day, and it means very little to me.
That day, though, they got my respect because I saw them out running in shorts and teeshirts when I knew it was hard and it was early and it was cold, and it was uncomfortable and it was Saturday morning, and they were getting older, and it was many other things that made what we were all out there doing DIFFICULT.
Only instead of being frustrating-- it was incredible! I fed right off their energy and ran faster and better after they had passed. I felt awesome.
When I got home, it made me want to do it again the next day. And when I did, and saw another woman on the trail, obviously a mom because she was pushing a jogging stroller and looked like she hadn't slept much.
That day I gave her the same kind of encouragement I had received the day before.
Her whole countenance changed. She knew what she was doing was good, and right.
And worth it. She held her head taller and her stride grew more vibrant.
I have found that God always sends me a little encouragement just when I'm ready to quit, in this same way.
So believe me when I say that I know the struggle. When I walk down the street right now, people don't say to themselves: "Hey, that woman is really in shape!"
But that's not the point. The point is that I know what feels healthier and what feels unhealthy.
I know what helps me and I know what hurts me.
I know, now, what it "was" like and what it "will be like."
Today, before the day goes by, see if you can't just get out there and do it. Even for moms-- ESPECIALLY for moms, exercise is critical.
Catholic wives are called to have babies. Lots of babies.
Drop and do a pushup every time you cross into your kitchen.
Put the baby on the floor next to you and do three sets of 20 situps.
Squat while you do dishes.
Ask your husband to watch the kids for ten minutes and sprint up and down your driveway the whole time.
Don't lie to yourself. An "active lifestyle" is NOT the same as exercise.
You don't need a program.
You don't need a fancy gym in your garage or the perfect diet.
You don't need a husband who gets on your case, or new friends.
You don't need new clothes.
You don't need anything but motivation, a little bit of knowledge, and the will to do better and be better than you were yesterday.
You aren't competing with anyone but yourself.
It isn't just hard for you. It's hard for everyone.
So, mamas, get out there...
and just. do. it.
To get started, here are 10 tips I've learned along the way.
1. Lift weights, as heavy as you can safely lift them. Get help, at first. This is the number one thing women tend NOT to do, but which yields the best results, hands down. As I have progressed in fitness, I have begun to notice how much time is wasted in exercise endeavors that do nothing for people-- or that do something which could be easily done in a shorter amount of time if they would just add more weight.
2. Pay attention to form. Watch YouTube videos and read articles to learn how to properly do exercises, which muscle groups to work, and how. Injuries are not fun.
3. Have a plan. Stick to it. If you have no idea what you're doing, ask someone you admire for their plan, and follow it for a while.
4. Take a rest day. Vary your routines. Have fun.
5. Alternate abs and cardio. Ideally, do them on an empty stomach first thing in the morning. Weight train at other times during the day.
6. Eat a clean diet as a lifestyle. Having a cheat day can help, at first. Take supplements if they help, but remember that in health, processed food is the enemy.
7. If all you have is 20 minutes, read up on how to do tabatas.
8. Get the whole family involved. Get motivated. Find favorite athletes and read their motivational posts. Participate in fitness events locally and online.
9. Don't be afraid to ask for what you need--- and to take advantage of the time you have. And don't be afraid to make fitness a priority, instead of a back burner activity. I promise you, it will be worth the time you are sure you are "wasting." It will give you the things you are looking for outside of exercise.
10. Don't stop when something comes up, even if that something is a pregnancy. Especially when that something is a pregnancy! Keep moving.
I'm praying for you! Please pray for me. :)
