Mommy2Joe Doesn’t Bail

by MrsFatass on April 27, 2009

Needless to day, I started adding power walks to my workout routine on Day Two of Lent. Primarily because I couldn’t imagine another 25 minutes of squats, plies, or standing side crunches after Day One of Lent.

I wanted to spend the day sitting as still as possible, praying for God to take the pain and stiffness away. But even I don’t give up on a challenge on Day Two. So, I popped a couple (4) Advil and decided I’d loosen the old bod up a bit by taking Thing Two for a spin in the stroller.

I have always been a walker. My favorite place to walk is the beach, but I have also put many miles on my treadmill, done a ton of charity walks, and one of my proudest accomplishments was finishing every freaking mile of the Avon Breast Cancer 3-Day in 2002. That was 60 miles over three days, with about 6 months of training to prepare. A few days after finishing the walk, I realized I was pregnant with Thing One, and that kid has more athletic endurance than any other I’ve ever met. I am certain it is because he was walking 60 miles with me while all those little cells were connecting and turning into a baby.

Anyhow, as arrogantly as I did the first video of Slim in Six the night before, I laced up my walking shoes and hobbled to the stroller to buckle Thing Two in for a nice long walk. Now, a sane person would have started doing something sensible, being that it was hard to take a step without wincing at the pain up the back of my leg from the previous days squats. But I am the person who continued to jog on shin splints for a week when I decided I wanted to run a 10 mile race, not stopping until I had high sprains and an inability even to hobble afterward. So I set out to do a couple of miles.

We got down to the end of our street – about 3 blocks – and I wasn’t any looser. It wasn’t any easier to take a step. We turned around and came back. That was enough for day two.

Now, I am basically an optimist. I can usually laugh my way through hard times and not get too bogged down in disappointments. But to be so crippled with stiffness from one workout, and not even be able to take a walk through the neighborhood with my baby was overwhelming, to say the least.

That day, I took a long look in the mirror, and just didn’t recognize that woman. The round face and flabby arms and soft belly. Who IS that? And what has she done with ME?

Last summer, a friend asked me to do an 8K walk with her. I said yes even though I suspected then what I know now – how far I had let myself go. And I was in the middle of the absolute lowest point of my life. You know those rankings about the things that cause the most stress to a person? We were going through the Top Three: Death, Unemployment, and Moving. All at once. You think I was working on my fitness at all? Of course not. So why I added getting ready for an 8K on top of all that I don’t really know, except that it was a chance to spend time with my friends before I left. And I was too embarassed to say I was too out of shape. So, I paid the fee, bought the new walking shoes, and started to train, all the while feeling totally depressed that I had to train when an 8K used to be nothing for me to whip out on a Saturday afternoon. Getting ready for it was such a mind game; I knew I was supposed to be feeling better as I got more active, but that is not what was happening. Every challenge was making me feel worse. And when the day came to do the walk, I wasn’t ready. I completed every step – but it was my pride that got me through it, not my fitness. Again, I was too embarassed not to finish. (And let me tell you, I paid for it the next few days!) But even though I finished, the whole process left me feeling defeated instead of elated.

And alone. Completely alone.

Just like Day Two of Lent. Home from a walk to the end of my street and back. Completely stiff and sore and out of breath and out of shape. With a huge goal in front of me, but feeling like I had no way to get there. Seriously, I thought people worked out because endorphins made them feel GREAT. Apparently, my endorphins were on the fritz, because every time I started trying to do the right thing, it left me feeling worse than before.

I had to make a choice. I could feel sorry for myself, and hit the fridge, or I could make a plan to do something. I could retreat and surrender or I could fight. I could crawl back into myself, or I could reach out.

I was tired of feeling alone.

I got on my knees, and I prayed.

Afterward, I didn’t have one of those moments where I felt a hand on my shoulder or heard a voice telling me I wasn’t alone. I didn’t feel the weight lifting off of my shoulders (or away from my waistline). I still felt just as overwhelmed. And a little ticked that the Big Guy didn’t give me some obvious answer or sign that he was with me.

But, I had made this commitment for forty days. And if I commit to something, I don’t bail. Mommy2Joe doesn’t bail.

So, I chugged my water with lemon all day, took a hot shower to loosen up my ever tightening muscles, and during Thing Two’s nap, I pulled out another exercise DVD. I put it in the machine, and I pushed play.

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