Larry Bird, I’m hot on your heels …”

I actually said this.  Under my breath, of course, and no one could hear me, but I still said it out loud.  And I meant it. Last night was my first night back at the gym – for real – since BSparl was born.  I’ve been exercising since her birth, but avoiding any weight training or true exertion for several reasons:

  • The c-section made me feel … tender.  That scar, so low on my abdomen, felt strange and a little uncomfortable at times, and I feel like it took a long time to heal.  I favored it because I was afraid to put too much strain on it.  (In my mind, I had this awful image of the wound giving way and my belly contents spilling out.  Only I never pictured MY belly contents.  Instead, I always pictured the stomach of a great white shark, so like a bucket, a tire, and a license plate would spill out.)  That, and trying to do any kind of abdominal exercise those first few weeks post-surgery were comical attempts.  I would lie on the ground, try to sit up, and nothing would happen.  Tumbleweeds would roll by.  Good times.

  • Wrist issues also impeded my workouts.  Before I was pregnant, I had tendinitis that kept me from doing a proper weight workout, but after the pregnancy, that mommy-induced De Quervain’s tenosynovitis hit hard and had me in physical therapy for weeks.  And that pain is still in play.  So lifting anything has been a struggle, and doing free weight workouts hurts my hands.  (Wah wah, I know.  But this issue isn’t going away, and I’m pissed!) 

  • Lastly, scheduling made things tough as well.  With our work schedules and deadlines and baby needs and moving into our new place and construction and holidays … and on and on, it’s been hard for me to work in a workout.  I know “you have to make time,” but for everyone who tells me that, I want to punch them (politely) in the face.  Finding the time, and then finding the energy, has been a struggle.
In my shark belly, there are also palm trees.  And tin cans.

Excuses, excuses, right?  But this week, my friends and I booked a trip to a warm and tropical location for a vacation at the end of March, and I’d very much like to enjoy how I feel and look by the time that trip rolls around. So last night, I was back at the gym and finally returned to the weight room.  Even if I can’t handle free weights at this time (thank you, evil wrists), I can do leg exercises.  And I can tone up by using my own body weight as resistance.  Even with the excuse-laden hurdles I want to blame my laziness on, there are things I can do to get back into better shape.  I just have to do them.  

Now I have a goal, and it’s not so ambitious that I will burn out in a week.  My goal isn’t to weigh a certain amount or hit the gym X number of times.  It’s totally emotional.  I just want to put on a bathing suit, and to feel decent in it.  I want to feel a bit healthier, a lot stronger, and a little less flumpy. 

And with the promise of palm trees and white sand on the horizon, I’ve found some incentive.