This week I took part in my first gym session after two years of not setting foot in one since T was born.
I was never a massive gym buff previously, but after failing to conceive T for a number of consecutive months I felt it was my responsibility to think outside the box and make some changes – just in case it was me (which is was, but nothing specifically to do with weight).
One of those changes was to make myself healthier in the hope that perhaps if I created a better environment for a baby, one would appear. So I started working out at the gym after work religiously three to four times a week. We eventually conceived several months down the line, but whether losing a ton of weight and eating better was a contributing factor I’ll never know.
Two years down the line I’m now at a stage where my energy levels aren’t as low as they were during the first year of parenthood, and I feel I now need to do something about this thing called a ‘muffin top’, which grows with each muffin I eat and changes the way my clothing now sits. I don’t think I’ve gained that much weight considering T stopped breastfeeding at 18 months and he’s now almost three, but there are still definite changes occurring.
Gym session went really well tonight. Aka: I didn’t keel over. Back again tomorrow!
I guess for the first year after T was born I was too tired, my boobs hurt or were often too full to even contemplate being thrown around, and running felt so unnatural thanks to said birth. I often didn’t have time to eat set meals (let alone go to a gym) so would normally snack around feeds, appointments, and baby groups, meaning my weight remained pretty much the same, and thanks to the gym work I did prior to conceiving, my stomach went back in pretty quickly. Result!
I’ll also admit right now that one of the other reasons I didn’t consider going to the gym initially was because of the mass calorie burning that I would take part in on a daily basis. aka Breastfeeding. In my head, this allowed me copious amounts of cake! This little wild card, however, has now run it’s course and I can no longer fall back on the 500 or so calories I would lose just by feeding T (*sobs*).
Year two, however, and things started to change. T had already stopped feeding from me a few weeks prior, but I didn’t stop the consumption of cake. In addition, I changed job roles which meant I wasn’t as active anymore. Adding this all together and things are now on the higher end of the too-tight scale.
At first I was ok with this. I was generally quite fit still and I was still eating pretty well, but despite all that, I didn’t like the way I looked in the mirror anymore. I was more wobbly in places and T started finding new pockets of skin to grab. Enough was enough. I had to do something before I fell too deep into the pit of weight gain and all my hard work previously would be undone. Plus, I love the fact that I can fit skinny jeans.
So I emailed my work’s gym that morning and arranged an induction. Two weeks later my first payment was set up and taken and one week after that I was stood in an old familiar place. It felt so so good. I really wish I’d done it sooner.
I’d done something for me and taken control.
Just standing in that room took me back to when we were conceiving. It wasn’t the happiest of times, but it was a time and a place where I felt most in control whilst I was lacking any control over my womanly parts. It made me feel motivated to do something for me and only me.
As a parent you don’t often get to do that. Your decisions are based on your child, your work, your family, which is understandable, but as time gets on its difficult to pin point the last time you did something that was for you (other than having a sneaky biscuit in the kitchen!) and to benefit only you.
When was the last time you did something just for you?