Jul
23
Dang it, I meant to include these at the bottom of the preceding post to make up for all the coma-inducing body image talk. Go forth and be entertained!
• 1,500 plus inmates of the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines practice their “Thriller” routine
• Your Amazon.com Order is Being Prepared for Shipping
• From the New Yorker, “Hey, Look”
• De-Animator, the game (tip: shoot for the chest, not the heads!)
• Just in time to sound all Smarty Von Cleverpants at BlogHer: Mashable’s 120+ resources for bloggers
• Things that they tell you in breastfeeding class (“Nipples darken as the baby time approaches, so that the wee ones can see them clearly as their tiny orby eyes seek out food. The breast is a lighthouse. The nipple is a big, dark light shining out. This is probably a terrible analogy.”)
Jul
23
July 23, 2007
In no particular order, here are some reasons I’ve been using lately for avoiding working out:
• The contractors are here every morning, and I’d rather be set on fire than do Turbo Jam with them just a few feet away
• Riley’s bedtime is later than it used to be, mowing over that critical time period between getting home from work and eating dinner that used to be perfect for jogging
• I’m tired a lot of the time, see also: nauseated/hungry/headachy
• During Riley’s afternoon naps, instead of popping in a DVD and lacing up my gym shoes, I’ve been crawling into bed and passing out
• It’s been freakishly hot and/or muggy/raining for the last three goddamned weeks in a row
Excuses, excuses. The real truth of it, I suppose, is that I’m gaining weight and it’s discouraging. I’ve discovered when the vanity element is removed from exercise—ie, I’m not going to see “results” between now and next spring no matter what I do—it’s embarrassingly difficult to focus on the health aspect, which is more important anyway. I know there are plenty of good reasons to keep exercising during this pregnancy, but it’s so much harder to stay in the groove when I know my body is only going to get larger over the next several months.
I realize that sounds petty as hell, and yet without the positive reinforcement of seeing my waistline shrink as the result of working out, boy, I am really struggling with motivation.
At the same time, I am also trying to give myself a break. I don’t want to beat myself up for not pursuing some idealistic low-weight-gain pregnancy where only my belly gets adorably round and afterwards I magically turn into Brooke Burke (which, have you seen her 4-months-postpartum beach bikini photos, what the blue fuck, is she even human?) because who am I kidding. I don’t want to stress over every pound gained, every new rounded curve. I want to be happy with my growing body, not fighting it every step of the way.
The diet-concious, workout-minded person I made myself into just a few short months before getting pregnant looks in the mirror right now and feels dismay, because it’s nearly impossible not to view any weight gain as bad. The level-headed part of me that knows pregnancy inevitably, naturally brings change looks in the mirror and sees visible proof that I’m having a baby, and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing to see.
So I’m trying to carve out some new fitness goals and I’m trying to be okay with the fact that they’re different from the goals I had a few months ago. I’m most interested in keeping up with the yoga, toning work, and a lighter form of cardio—some Turbo Jam, some walking—and, god help me, I bought a Denise Austin “Fit Pregnancy” workout DVD (in which everyone wears leotards).
I am also trying not to eat an entire pint of ice cream every day. But I’ve green-lighted Peanut Butter Captain Crunch eaten in dry handfuls while watching John From Cincinnati, massive amounts of cantaloupe, and bacon chocolate.
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