When I was in high school and college coming to the beach meant hours at the track trying to get in a few last minute runs to improve the appearance of my legs. It also meant hundreds of crunches and ounces of cellulite cream. To make matters worse, the walls of the condo my parents rented for our annual beach trip were covered in mirrors. Why anyone would do that I have no idea. I recall catching glimpses of my bikini-clad-self in the endless array of mirrors and immediately stopping to do squats or lunges. Vain and a bit pathetic, I know.
Now, I hit the track for a much different motivation. And, I thank God that he gave someone at Land's End the wisdom and ability to create the Miracle Suit. Available in one piece styles and black! I also thank God that He has brought me to the other side on a battle with body image and self-esteem. My beach preparations and perspective are much different and much happier these days. Instead of worrying about my thighs, I drive my husband and children crazy applying sunscreen to every spot that might even possibly see sun. I worry about undertows and rainy days and rarely give my abs, a little strectched from two pregnancies, a second thought. After all, they are tucked in safe and sound underneath the strategic folds of my miracle swimsuit.
I sit on the beach holding C , watching A and T jump in the surf. Grabbing my camera, I run down to the water's edge to shoot some action photos of my adorable swimmers. A young girl in a black bikini catches my eye. She has the "beach walk" down perfectly, and I notice her cast a quick "do they notice" glance at some young men sitting on the sand. Then she suddenly seems self-conscious, and I notice she isn't smiling nor does she appear carefree. I turn my attention to the hundreds of other women on the beach who are like me. Not quite our ideal weight, wearing one pieces in all the possible shades of black, madly snapping photos of the thousands of cute things our children are doing at that moment. Jumping, splashing, toes in the sand for the first time. And we are all wearing the beach's most imporant accessory: huge, silly, happy grins. And while it's been a long journey for me personally, words cannot describe the elation I feel in that moment of complete freedom from self-consumption and worry about me, my body and how it looks in a swimsuit.
Note: T asked A what the best part of the beach was today and she replied, "You." T asked, "Daddy was the best part of the beach?" A responded, "Yes, Daddy. You're the best." Melt my heart!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Things You Don't Want to Hear While Running
Running. My favorite hobby. Really, it is. I love the feel of the pavement under my feet, the labored breathing, the rush of endorphins after a long run that make you feel like anything is possible. The reality is lately running has become more of a chore than a joy. With the rainy, rainy, rainy weather (did I mention the rain?), working around nap schedules, and just trying to get motivated through a haze of sleep deprivation, running has become something else to check off the list of daily duties. But I'm ready to move beyond that. After stepping on the scale, I am reenergized with a new level of motivation....a high level of motivation. So today, I loaded up the stroller and my two angels and hit the trail, where I discovered that there are several things you'd rather not hear while running, especially when you are trying to find running encouragement, not running discouragement!
1. There is a snake up ahead.
Determined and as I mentioned earlier, motivated, I reach the start of the trail with happy children. I notice an older lady sitting on a park bench, dabbing sweat onto a towel. She makes eye contact, nods, and says, "There's a snake up there. I tried to scare it away, but I don't know." "Okay, thanks." I slowly proceed while thinking, "A snake. A snake?! Is it coming back? How big was the snake? Where was the snake EXACTLY?" I decide to go ahead and run since there are lots of other people, who warned, continue to run and will hear me scream and come to my rescue. My eyes frantically comb the sides of the trail most of the entire run until I hear one disgruntled stroller passenger begin to express his frustration and grow distracted. Fortunately, no snake ever appears.
2. Run, mommy.
"Run, mommy." I hear A call as I trudge along. "I am running, sweetheart. Been running for several minutes."
"Then run faster!" she calls. I'm running as fast as I can behind a double jogger holding over 50 lbs. of children, two pounds of snacks, and ten pounds of books. If I were running any faster, passersby would be phoning the paramedics. I shrug and keep my "blistering" pace up for at least two miles, when I hear it. Faint at first, but growing stronger.
3. WAAAAA!
C begins to cry. Loudly. I made it to the two mile marker running, unfortunately, it is two miles back to the car. C 's discontent is now leading to A 's. Soon both children are whining, crying, and yelling. So, I unstrap C from the stroller and into the front carrier and walk, quickly, stopping every few minutes to tell A to sit back before she falls out and to pick flowers to add to her stroller floral collection and to gently bounce C in an attempt to calm him down. Forty-five minutes later we arrive back at the car. Yea! Four miles- ninety minutes. Must be a new record for my running speed.
Despite the challenges, though, I did it. One more workout. Another challenge. I thank God for giving me the ability to run, the opportunity to run, and tell myself something I do need to hear. "Good effort." I look at my children, who are now content, and smile, hoping they are learning a little something about perseverance from their mommy and her effort to continue a hobby she enjoys so much.
1. There is a snake up ahead.
Determined and as I mentioned earlier, motivated, I reach the start of the trail with happy children. I notice an older lady sitting on a park bench, dabbing sweat onto a towel. She makes eye contact, nods, and says, "There's a snake up there. I tried to scare it away, but I don't know." "Okay, thanks." I slowly proceed while thinking, "A snake. A snake?! Is it coming back? How big was the snake? Where was the snake EXACTLY?" I decide to go ahead and run since there are lots of other people, who warned, continue to run and will hear me scream and come to my rescue. My eyes frantically comb the sides of the trail most of the entire run until I hear one disgruntled stroller passenger begin to express his frustration and grow distracted. Fortunately, no snake ever appears.
2. Run, mommy.
"Run, mommy." I hear A call as I trudge along. "I am running, sweetheart. Been running for several minutes."
"Then run faster!" she calls. I'm running as fast as I can behind a double jogger holding over 50 lbs. of children, two pounds of snacks, and ten pounds of books. If I were running any faster, passersby would be phoning the paramedics. I shrug and keep my "blistering" pace up for at least two miles, when I hear it. Faint at first, but growing stronger.
3. WAAAAA!
C begins to cry. Loudly. I made it to the two mile marker running, unfortunately, it is two miles back to the car. C 's discontent is now leading to A 's. Soon both children are whining, crying, and yelling. So, I unstrap C from the stroller and into the front carrier and walk, quickly, stopping every few minutes to tell A to sit back before she falls out and to pick flowers to add to her stroller floral collection and to gently bounce C in an attempt to calm him down. Forty-five minutes later we arrive back at the car. Yea! Four miles- ninety minutes. Must be a new record for my running speed.
Despite the challenges, though, I did it. One more workout. Another challenge. I thank God for giving me the ability to run, the opportunity to run, and tell myself something I do need to hear. "Good effort." I look at my children, who are now content, and smile, hoping they are learning a little something about perseverance from their mommy and her effort to continue a hobby she enjoys so much.
Monday, May 4, 2009
New Addition
Welcome my beautiful nephew, R! 6 lbs. 10 oz. Praise God for a beautiful baby boy. Children truly are a gift from the Lord and such an amazing joy!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
High Expectations
I walk down the stairs to the gym nursery. A occupies one hip, while my elbow cradles C 's carrier, complete with his 20 lbs. I sign big sister and baby in, put A 's shoes in her bin, and place C s carrier on the floor next to another baby, whose mom is chatting with the nursery worker about bottles. The mom and I smile and nod and comment on how cute our little boys look chatting with each other. Our children appear to be about the same age and the same size; the mom and I do not....appear to be the same size.
She looks like she just stopped by the gym for a workout after a quick warm-up of running the New York City marathon. I am wearing, not one, but two bras to hold up the extra nursing weight I am still carrying up top. You can see the faint outline of my soft tummy from beneath the two t-shirts I've chosen to wear to cover up the two bras. I am back in my old running shorts, but the spin shorts I wear underneath will never be seen alone in public. No, running shorts over bike shorts for at least another six months. Wow! is all I can think. How does anyone lose their baby weight that fast?
As a runner, I know I'll eventually be back to pre-baby figure. I did it last time, and quite frankly, I was in no hurry, but since I've joined the gym, I've noticed a disturbing trend. At least it's disturbing to my "holding on to those last ten pounds for dear life" frame. So many moms are strutting back into the gym six weeks after giving birth looking like they never even had a contraction. I see and hear moms talking about how quickly they are getting back into their pre-baby jeans. I can't even find my old jeans. Am I supposed to be back to my old size 6/8 four months into my baby's life? Is this the expectation? Let's see. I'm not a pro athlete, not a supermodel, not a.....what other profession requires women who've just given birth to look like they did the day they found out they were expecting.
I didn't really notice or think about it with A . Could it be I didn't really leave the house until A was six months old? And even then it was for walks around the park until she turned one year, and I started training for a half-marathon. Now that I've joined the gym, I was feeling pretty good about.....showing up. I didn't realize that women actually manage to show up like they never missed a day. I even worked out during pregnancy, but I've still got ten pounds left. I like to blame them on the fat my body REQUIRES to make breast milk.
The truth is, although I am blogging about it, I'm really not unhappy with my ten pounds. I'm actually quite excited about the progress I've made. This far into A 's first four months of life I was still in maternity pants some days. I think I'm more sad for the women who feel the pressure to look like Heidi Klum two weeks after birthing a miracle and blessing. I've got the rest of my life to worry about losing ten pounds, if I even want to. I will just find another marathon to train for and watch the weight melt away as I manuever two children (fifty pounds) in a stroller up and down the track. Right now, I'm going to jog around and see if I need to add another bra.
She looks like she just stopped by the gym for a workout after a quick warm-up of running the New York City marathon. I am wearing, not one, but two bras to hold up the extra nursing weight I am still carrying up top. You can see the faint outline of my soft tummy from beneath the two t-shirts I've chosen to wear to cover up the two bras. I am back in my old running shorts, but the spin shorts I wear underneath will never be seen alone in public. No, running shorts over bike shorts for at least another six months. Wow! is all I can think. How does anyone lose their baby weight that fast?
As a runner, I know I'll eventually be back to pre-baby figure. I did it last time, and quite frankly, I was in no hurry, but since I've joined the gym, I've noticed a disturbing trend. At least it's disturbing to my "holding on to those last ten pounds for dear life" frame. So many moms are strutting back into the gym six weeks after giving birth looking like they never even had a contraction. I see and hear moms talking about how quickly they are getting back into their pre-baby jeans. I can't even find my old jeans. Am I supposed to be back to my old size 6/8 four months into my baby's life? Is this the expectation? Let's see. I'm not a pro athlete, not a supermodel, not a.....what other profession requires women who've just given birth to look like they did the day they found out they were expecting.
I didn't really notice or think about it with A . Could it be I didn't really leave the house until A was six months old? And even then it was for walks around the park until she turned one year, and I started training for a half-marathon. Now that I've joined the gym, I was feeling pretty good about.....showing up. I didn't realize that women actually manage to show up like they never missed a day. I even worked out during pregnancy, but I've still got ten pounds left. I like to blame them on the fat my body REQUIRES to make breast milk.
The truth is, although I am blogging about it, I'm really not unhappy with my ten pounds. I'm actually quite excited about the progress I've made. This far into A 's first four months of life I was still in maternity pants some days. I think I'm more sad for the women who feel the pressure to look like Heidi Klum two weeks after birthing a miracle and blessing. I've got the rest of my life to worry about losing ten pounds, if I even want to. I will just find another marathon to train for and watch the weight melt away as I manuever two children (fifty pounds) in a stroller up and down the track. Right now, I'm going to jog around and see if I need to add another bra.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
A Walk in the Park
I am walking down the trail with a sense of urgency. A is in the double-jogger, whining, "I waaant a snack," after just having eaten her snack minutes earlier. C is strapped to my chest in his front carrier wailing loud screams of agony. He's just gotten his tears, so his sweet, little face looks even more pitiful than usual with all the tears streaming. Despite the loud yells that not even top walkman volume can drown out, I am calm, smiling at passersby, who I notice are all looking down as if to avoid eye contact. I can't imagine why. Oh, and did I mention that the stroller has a flat tire?
Let's go back to the beginning of the jog that started with such promise.... I arrive at the track with happy children. A grabs her new book and C snoozes quietly in the stroller. My run seems easy, and I quickly fall into a nice stride, when I notice the jogger seems awfully difficult too push, more difficult than usual. (Understand my three month old son weighs 15 lbs. 6 oz.) I look down to see the right-side tire is almost flat. "Awww man," I moan. I call T , who assures me that it will not damage the tire to keep on running, so I continue. Then I hear, "Mommy, I need juice."
"Mommy forgot your juice, and you just had something to drink."
"I need to potty."
Not now, not now. "You just pottied two minutes ago, sweetheart." I really think it is her attempt to go back home, so I keep running. If she asks again, we'll turn around. She doesn't mention it again.
Three miles, I make it three miles, non-stop. Truly a milestone, considering the horrible shape I'm in. Getting back into marathon shape with two is much more difficult than it was with one. But, what a fun challenge it presents. My celebration is cut short, though, when I see A leaning over her brother. "A , stop that, he's sleeping. Do not wake him up!" Or what, I think. It's too late, though. C opens his eyes and in minutes is crying. The crying escalates until we get to the half-mile marker where I unfasten his seatbelt and fasten him into the front carrier that I actually remembered to put into the stroller. I think this is might be a small example of what Paul meant when he wrote about perseverance producing character, etc.
And here is where you found us at the beginning. My desire to get back in my old clothing vs. my sanity. I pick up the pace even more (at least my angels motivate me to push harder at the track), and we finally make it back to the car. I unload cranky kids into the car, where A stops whining and C stops crying. I wrestle with the stroller and finally bodyslam it into its folding position and hoist it into the car. I can only laugh and remind myself that parenting isn't for the faint of heart.
Side note: My little pumpkin cracks me up. She is learning to sing along with the radio, and it is the cutest thing ever. She's memorized most of the Veggie Tales songs, and when her daddy is listening to the hair band channel on XM. She'll say, "I like this song; turn it up." :)
Let's go back to the beginning of the jog that started with such promise.... I arrive at the track with happy children. A grabs her new book and C snoozes quietly in the stroller. My run seems easy, and I quickly fall into a nice stride, when I notice the jogger seems awfully difficult too push, more difficult than usual. (Understand my three month old son weighs 15 lbs. 6 oz.) I look down to see the right-side tire is almost flat. "Awww man," I moan. I call T , who assures me that it will not damage the tire to keep on running, so I continue. Then I hear, "Mommy, I need juice."
"Mommy forgot your juice, and you just had something to drink."
"I need to potty."
Not now, not now. "You just pottied two minutes ago, sweetheart." I really think it is her attempt to go back home, so I keep running. If she asks again, we'll turn around. She doesn't mention it again.
Three miles, I make it three miles, non-stop. Truly a milestone, considering the horrible shape I'm in. Getting back into marathon shape with two is much more difficult than it was with one. But, what a fun challenge it presents. My celebration is cut short, though, when I see A leaning over her brother. "A , stop that, he's sleeping. Do not wake him up!" Or what, I think. It's too late, though. C opens his eyes and in minutes is crying. The crying escalates until we get to the half-mile marker where I unfasten his seatbelt and fasten him into the front carrier that I actually remembered to put into the stroller. I think this is might be a small example of what Paul meant when he wrote about perseverance producing character, etc.
And here is where you found us at the beginning. My desire to get back in my old clothing vs. my sanity. I pick up the pace even more (at least my angels motivate me to push harder at the track), and we finally make it back to the car. I unload cranky kids into the car, where A stops whining and C stops crying. I wrestle with the stroller and finally bodyslam it into its folding position and hoist it into the car. I can only laugh and remind myself that parenting isn't for the faint of heart.
Side note: My little pumpkin cracks me up. She is learning to sing along with the radio, and it is the cutest thing ever. She's memorized most of the Veggie Tales songs, and when her daddy is listening to the hair band channel on XM. She'll say, "I like this song; turn it up." :)
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