I met up with a girlfriend for a mom and baby exercise class on Friday morning. While I totally anticipated not being the fittest in the group, I hadn’t planned on being the most out of shape. I have never been intensely fit or terribly overweight. I have always fallen comfortably to the left of the middle; what I lacked in fitness, sheer determination got me and vice versa. Until Friday.
No amount of determination could successfully power me through light-headedness while in the middle of a burpee circuit with 7 other moms bearing down on me, fast. “Oooops, sorry! Can you just jump over my blood and oxygen starved body? Thanks!” I finished that circuit, had a quickie wall sit pity party and jumped in for a grapevine shuffle circuit. At the end of that? I saw spots. My legs? Shaking uncontrollably. My oxygen depleted brain? Trying to figure out a way to continue without wobbling like the town drunkard. What the hell brain?!!! I mean, which would be worse? Admit that I’m out of shape and take a breather, or collapse in the middle of the room and have the trainer ask me to sit out for a few?
Luckily, a decision I didn’t have to make (I would have passed out). Attia must have sensed her food source was about to collapse, because she started to cry and root like breastfeeding was going out of style. As hardcore as this trainer is, she is a mother and the babies come first. I jumped out of line faster than the proverbial bat out of hell. “Oh, Attia is hungry. I need to feed her or you won’t be able to hear this
horrible remix of Destiny’s Child and Nirvana.”
I quickly made my way to the cozy little sitting area and
fell over sat down to feed Attia. I was stupid and left her nice muslin Aiden + Anais swaddle across the sea of lunging Mommies and had to use a sticky, non-breathable fleece blanket to wrap Attia in. Most uncomfortable nurse in the world! I was dripping with sweat and Attia was nice and cool. She did not enjoy being pressed against her sticky mother; however, her best friend boob convinced her to stick around for the duration of the class.
There were only 3 circuits left (lunging, speed skate and a run) in the class, so my ego didn’t suffer a tremendous amount. A few moms offered sincere words of encouragement, “I puked my first class.” And, “I gave up way before you my first time.” I thanked them and smiled, but their words weren’t really a source of comfort to me. I’m supposed to be the tough one, the one who will pass out (almost did!) before they tap out. What happened?
The kid. The kid is what happened. In the split seconds it took me to think through myriad best and worst case scenarios, my decision would have been made. And somehow passing out, flat on my face in a gym full of strangers with my daughter laying 15 feet from her blacked out mother? Didn’t seem the best option. Nope, I would have picked (and always will), what benefits the child. And in this case? It meant a little bit of: Sucking up the pride. Refusing to act stronger, fitter and tougher than I was. Most of all, admitting to myself and others, that I still have a ways to go.
At least I took the first wobbly steps, or in this case 9,000,000 lunges, right?
Note: My plan of attack includes 10 weeks of group sessions, one day a week. I will do a more traditional cardio and weight training plan at home in conjunction with the 10 weeks of training. The goal is to jump start the return to fitness and help me make it through winter
without losing my mind completely. Now the only outstanding portion of my plan: wrangle the beast that is nutrition!