Somewhere along the race we call motherhood I’ve fallen into last place.
I give, give, give all I have to my family and as amazing as it is to watch them thrive, I fall behind and constantly feel like I’m losing the race.
It’s not like I intended it to go this way. Heck no!
It’s just something that happens because in this race to keep everyone happy and organized the time I have left doesn’t account for myself.
There are only so many hours in a day and time for myself falls last on the list.
It’s my fault, but I also never had to work hard to look good and now that I do it bothers me.
Throughout the pandemic, like most parents, this became even more apparent.
I was surrounded by friends and acquaintances that used the time to focus on themselves, to do the home works outs, make the healthy meals and drink the water.
But I think I felt so far behind that it was easier to watch them from afar and beat myself up over it. Eating the bag of chips and drinking the wine saying that I would start tomorrow.
I ate my feelings and drank my emotions.
It wasn’t that bad, but it added up and then somewhere along the race I fell in last.
You see, as I enter this whole middle age part of my life, the one thing that is noticeably changing is my reflection in the mirror.
Saggier, baggier and more wrinkled.
Okay, obviously we are our own worst critics, but truth be told, age is something hard to embrace.
I know there are so many marketing ads to love your body, be proud of what it does for you, blah, blah, blah, but damn taking care of this outer shell is work.
Hard work.
And hard work is not something many of us make time for.
Getting to a gym takes time, working out takes time, driving home takes time, showering takes time, a blow dry takes longer… and before you know it the day is half done and I have checked nothing off my list.
“I don’t have time for this”, I’d proclaim so I’d let it go as my pants got tighter and confidence got deflated.
In my 20s I could eat what I wanted, exercise for fun without breaking a sweat, drink sugary cocktails and eat tacos at midnight.
Now I can do those things, but I pay the price for them. It bothers me.
This changing of our outer shell is one that as much as we try to, we can’t control.
We age.
It’s not something we can stop the clock on or ask for a re-do.
It happens.
And so, we try to control these changes by drinking the green juices, using the creams, the potions and lotions and quick fixes that surround us as we scroll through social media forgetting that life online is filtered and deeming ourselves a complete loss.
This is where I was stuck as I would occasionally work out in my basement, lacking motivation and incentive, but knowing that I had to make a change.
For my health. For my family. For a chance to step onto the podium and not be in last place.
I needed to make time for ME, because a broken, poorly functioning ME was good to no one.
I used to work out for my appearance, but I now do it for longevity. Something in that whole pool of middle life changes you. Time is numbered and doing the best we can with what we’ve been given takes precedence.
I love a packed class, surrounded by like-minded people, loud, pumping music, and others grunting as loudly as I am.
I love the hi-fives of other gym goers and cheers of encouragement.
I love seeing a room full of all ages, sizes and backgrounds working for one common goal, to look good and feel better.
I’m not at the gym to make friends or fill time, I’m there because I want to make change and I feel most other women are too.
Prior to the pandemic I found a boot camp owned by a man named Tony. It became my jam as it was fun, challenging and quick. It checked off all my boxes of what a workout should be, what I had time for and it allowed me to start my day without being in last place, but rather front and centre, sweaty and accomplished.
When the pandemic hit and I retreated into my comfort zone of home, Tony never gave up on me. Constantly checking in with texts and emails, encouraging me to come back.
It took me awhile to figure him out, but to him this wasn’t just business, he genuinely wanted people to feel better and take care of themselves. He thrived in that.
Emotionally and financially, it took me time to commit again because I was so used to being in last place with the constant worry of everyone around me that I didn’t make myself a priority.
That is until I saw that one photo. You know the one. The one with five chins, arms that look like tree trunks and a tummy that had people questioning if I was pregnant or just bloated.
I quickly deleted it from my phone but I couldn’t erase that image in my mind.
I don’t care what anyone says… when you look good you feel good. End of story.
I understand that fitting into my jeans from university days or sporting my six-pack again wasn’t going to happen. Age is a real thing. Change is inevitable.
So rather than focusing on how my body was changing I chose to embrace it.
It still bothers me, but at least it’s moving and functioning and that in itself is a blessing I can’t ignore.
As I looked around the room at all of the others who were sweating, grunting and giving it the best they had, I realized that being here to fit back into my jeans was no longer my goal, but rather to feel good about the reflection that I saw staring back at me.
We only get one outer shell, no re-dos or second chances, so if I want to live the life that I dream of, I need this body to keep up with me.
Plain and simple.
I need to stop caring about pant size and weight because those are numbers that no one else can see but me.
So one day at a time, as Tony welcomes me back through the gym door each morning, I realize that I can’t give up on myself because life IS a race and it isn’t over yet.
I will never quit on myself and this is step one in proving that.
We’ve Got This!
@half_full_most_days