…you’ve lost HOW much?
We are now entering week 6 of starting personal training. As a refresher from my post “Weight – you gained HOW much?“, I’ve lost 43 pounds and am attempting to lose 30 more. Prenatal depression killed my energy, jacked up my appetite and pregnancy gave me a strange new obsession with carbs.
I had been losing weight at a good clip, but I suddenly stalled when I still had 30 more pounds to go. We made the decision to spend a little bit of our ‘rainy day’ funds on personal training to help me through the plateau that I hit in March.
In the 6 weeks that I’ve been doing personal training, I’ve lost a whopping ONE POUND.
So I guess I’ve now officially lost 44 pounds.
OK, OK, it’s not just about the pounds of course. I’ve been building muscle and actually cutting body fat. I feel strong. I feel powerful. In fact, I’ve lost 1.2% of my body fat. So that’s pretty cool actually.
This comes from working out with the trainer three times a week, for a grueling 50 minutes each time. I basically start out strong and then toward the end of the session end up flopping around like a beached whale as I struggle to complete the exercises. It’s insane to me that I haven’t lost more weight strictly from the sheer amount of sweat that exits my body in the process. On the weekends and during the week, I walk with my girlfriend (otherwise known as my lifeline).
My goal is to add in some runs so I’ve got a more balanced amount of cardio and strength training. I love running and I miss it. I feel like that could really help take my weight loss to the next level.
But as good as I feel about being a mom these days, I still feel overwhelmed, making the idea of adding in running seem impossible.
Just thinking about that makes me feel weak and undisciplined. I’m desperately trying to make fitness a priority, while making my husband a priority, while making my baby a priority, while making my diet a priority, while making my social life a priority, while making my house a priority, while making my job a priority, while making my mental health a priority, and so forth until oblivion.
Prior to having a kid, balancing work and life never seemed that hard. If I couldn’t balance it very well, it didn’t bother me. But now it does. I constantly feel out of control.
I feel like I lack control every time I have a third glass of wine. I feel like I lack discipline every time I sneak a piece of plum cake from the kitchen. I feel like I lack commitment every evening that I come home and have a mental debate between the merits of preparing healthy lunches for the week or sitting on the couch and watching a little bit of the Mindy Project while my baby snoozes upstairs.
I read a lot of articles about forming habits, exercising control, becoming disciplined and it just makes me so…damn…tired. All of those things are designed to make my life simpler and easier to manage, yet I chafe against being tightly scheduled. Does discipline and control make people happier? Is discipline and control an illusion? Can discipline and control backfire? Does everyone have better discipline and control than I?
I don’t know the answers to any of that.
The only thing that I can keep doing is putting on my workout clothes and meeting the trainer at our appointed times to sweat and roll around the gym floor in my interpretation of ‘ab work’. All I can do is try to get the minimal amount of stuff done as best as I can while I keep the baby safe and happy. The only thing I can do is to forgive myself when I eat too much or drink too much and say to myself:
Tomorrow is always a new start.
You’ll get on track again, tomorrow.
There are always tomorrows.
Every day, every time I misstep, I keep reminding myself of that. When it breaks my heart that I have to wear maternity shorts on our much-anticipated family reunion trip to Hawaii…ten MONTHS after having my baby…because nothing else fits, I repeat those mantras.
Every time I look in the mirror and see the extra fat around my neck, back and belly, I tell myself:
You will lose this depression weight.
You CAN and you WILL do this.
And every night, no matter how hard it is to think those thoughts, no matter how much chocolate babka ‘accidentally’ fell into my mouth…I don’t go to bed until I believe.