Confession time: I have gained some weight.
Body image and health is always an awkward and sensitive topic to talk about and especially write about, but I think I am finally up to the task. I have never been a naturally long, lean or thin woman. Most of the women in my family are hourglass shaped – built with hips, narrow waists and broad shoulders. All of us have a little meat on our bones. So I was destined, genetically speaking, to be built the same.
I have been totally ok with my body shape my entire life. I like having curves, even though it has made it hard to find pants that fit in both the hips and the waist, and that I have always had to watch what I eat because 5 pounds on a petite curvy girl can look a little more like 10 pounds depending on where it lands. Until my mid-twenties, I was super active and had a decent metabolism, but I still struggled with gaining weight if I didn’t watch every bite.
Then my thirties began and it has been such a struggle. (This is when I want to throw in one of those #thestruggleisreal cause it really is!) Part of the struggle was related to my declining metabolism (getting older sucks y’all), part of it was the fertility drugs I was on, but in the last few years, most of it was me and my lack of discipline. Although I went through seasons of eating well, and ensuring I didn’t overdo it on things like desserts or wine or bread, I still had too many days where I threw caution to wind and ate what I wanted. Combine that with a desk job and a child who demands most of your attention after work, and I convinced myself I had no time to work out.
So I gained weight. It was inevitable. My work pants are a little too snug, my skinny jeans do not make me look skinny and I am having to wear looser tops to cover my middle. But more than the clothes being tight in the wrong places, I feel yucky. I'm overly tired and fatigued in a way that sleep cannot help, and I am mentally thinking about things in a more negative way because I feel so negative about how I look.
And I think that is the thing that made me want to do something about it. So I starting running again in early December.
About 10 years ago, running was my primary way of working out and relieving stress. I couldn’t afford a gym membership and I lived in a neighborhood with sidewalks and pretty old homes to look at so I ran. I ran every day after work for 45 minutes and it was one of the highlights of my day. A runners high is a real thing and I became addicted to it. I also became addicted to the calmness I felt after my run – I could think without distractions. Sure I had shin splints sometimes and an old ankle injury would flare up, but overall running was amazing. It got me healthy, it kept me at a decent weight and it provided a routine I could rely on. It led me to do a lot of things I had either never done, or needed to do – like run a 5K, or join a running club, and also eat better on a consistent basis.
I missed running. I ran here and there over the last decade, but that old ankle injury, plus a stress fracture I developed shortly after I got married, made it hard sometimes. Then the getting out of shape made it harder, Then the extra weight made it worse.
There is always an excuse to wait, to shove things off, to come up with reasons why we can’t or we shouldn’t do something. I had no reasons left. So l started running again. 1 minute of brisk walking, 4 minutes of running over and over for 30 minutes. I do this routine every other day – sometimes by myself, sometimes pushing Brighton in her stroller (which by the way is 50 pounds - 25 pounds of her, 24.5 pounds of her stroller - and pushing that uphill when you are out of shape feels like dying).
Some days I love it and other days I want to quit. My back hurts after I run. My legs hurt. I'm embarrassed at times at how slow I am. But I know the benefits so I keep going. It’s not about how far or how fast I run, it’s about being consistent and disciplined and treating myself through good health.
Slow and steady wins the skinny jeans. (Or so I say.)
