The Badass Army rocks. Each of you is strong, whether you have felt it yet or not. Your honesty and determination consistently blows me away and reminds me of the power of this Badass Journey - especially when taken as an Army, not a solitary soldier.
Last week one of my training clients shared her post-college Road to Retrofabulous struggles. Today, a friend who has also been a client and group fitness student shares her post-baby challenges and the steps she is (literally) taking to get her groove back.
So here she is, Ryan Wiggins. One Badass Motha'!
Three years ago this month, I received the greatest gift a person can receive. I became “mommy” to a healthy, happy, snuggly little boy named Elliott. The very first time I held him, I realized that my life no longer belonged to me. From the very first breath he took, he was my top priority—my entire world. Three years later, this hasn’t changed.
But becoming a mommy wasn’t without its downsides. The women in my family do pregnancy in a big way—HUGE, in fact. Several times during my pregnancy, I was asked if I was carrying multiples. The night before Elliott was born; my 5’9 frame was tipping the scales at 225 lbs. I had gained 60 lbs in those nine-plus months.
Returning from the hospital with my perfect little baby was overwhelming. Caring for a new is tough, especially while sleep deprived and hormonally emotional. It was also the first time I had seen my naked body in a mirror since Elliott was born. My body -- always curvy, yet firm -- was suddenly unrecognizably swollen, stretched and sagging. Long, thick, dark red stretch marks covered my hips, stomach, butt and legs. I looked like I had just been in a nasty fight with a tiger. I felt helpless. Surely this body in the mirror could not be mine. Would I ever look like me again?
No one tells expectant or new mommies how easy it is to get sucked into being a nurturer. As a new parent, working mom and wife, I felt as though I had to take care of everyone and felt incredibly guilty if I took time for myself. Being a constant caregiver forced my femininity, sexuality and sense of self to take a back seat, if not fly out the window completely.
For me, after 10 months of pregnancy (9 months is a vicious lie) and then 10 months of nursing, my body did not feel as though it belonged to me anymore; it was Elliott’s. I had been sucked on, puked on, pooped on, peed on, cried on and snotted on. I had pulled countless all-nighters followed by full days in the office. I had changed millions of diapers. By Elliott’s first birthday, I was tired and I looked it. I had also let myself go.
I had lost the majority of the baby weight, but the last 10 lbs were there. I had sagginess and extra padding around my midsection, hips and thighs. And those dreaded stretch marks. I had all but given up the idea that I could ever be sexy, feminine or desirable again. I gave up my body and my life for this small perfect little boy, but had completely lost myself in the process.
Sure, I could have exercised, but where was the time? I was working full time as a spokesperson for a state agency and when I came home, I was a full time mommy and wife. Taking time out to exercise meant being away from my husband and son even more. I felt incredible guilt about that. The scales started going up again and my “fat girl” clothes were getting tight. I’d go a few weeks eating healthy and exercising, but then I’d always find an excuse why working on myself wasn’t important. And I would find myself in my kitchen with sweet potato baby food in my hair wearing pajama pants with elastic waistbands and wondering how my former sorority girl self ended up here. Where was that flirty girly girl I used to be? What the hell happened to me and my body?
In July of this year came my “aha” moment. I saw a picture of myself from my baby sister’s wedding in May. I was appalled. Who was that “fat girl?” What happened to her smile? Her confidence? Her muscle tone? Was this REALLY what I looked like?
That was it – the day I decided enough was enough. It was time to take control. My husband and I changed our diet to one high in fiber and whole grains, with little to no processed sugars, lots of lean proteins and tons of fresh fruits and veggies. I bought a good pair of running shoes with the appropriate amount of support for my low arches. I invested in more Nike Tempo running shorts than any one girl should own. I bought an iPod shuffle, downloaded my favorite songs and set out to reclaim my body and the girl I used to be.
I live in a north Florida neighborhood called Betton Hills, where it is – as named - impossible to find a flat running surface. It was July in Tallahassee and the heat and humidity were unbearable. I’d never been a runner before. I’d never had the endurance to run more than about a quarter of a mile, but it had always been a goal of mine to be able to go out for a run and run miles and miles effortlessly. I had to start somewhere. My first run was on July 5. I ran about a block and then walked for 2 miles. My average pace was 3.9 mph. It was slow, hot and difficult, but I didn’t give up. In the beginning, I ran/walked three days a week. Then I started running five days a week. My endurance got better, my recovery time got shorter, my legs got stronger and my pace got faster. Before I knew it, I had shed 10 lbs. Even better: I had run over a mile consecutively in extreme weather conditions, outdoors and up hills averaging a much better pace of 4.4 mph. It took one month to see that kind of progress.
What I’ve learned on this journey is that there will always be an excuse not to take care of yourself. Working moms have an especially hard go of it because of the tremendous amount of guilt that comes with balancing the different roles we play and the fear that we are not giving enough to our families. The trick for me was finding an excuse TO take care of myself. When I am taking care of me, I am healthier; both emotionally and physically. I’m better able to take care of my family when I’ve taken care of myself. When I made myself a priority, it was easy to find the time to go for a run.
Running is quickly becoming an addiction for me. I miss my runs on my days off and feel really out of sorts when life prevents me from getting a run in. Running challenges me, recharges me and renews my spirit. Equally, if not more importantly, running is empowering me to get my groove back.
The goals I have set for myself will not be measured on a scale or by a tape measure. They won’t be measured in pace or distance. My goal right now is to just keep running—to stay on the path of finding myself again and taking better care of me. If I do that, the pace, distance, weight and inches will take care of themselves. I post every single run on Facebook and Twitter so I can stay motivated and so that my friends can hold me accountable.
When I am out running, I’m getting to know myself again. Every time my foot hits the pavement, I am getting stronger. Every bead of sweat that trickles down my back is detoxifying my body of years of neglecting myself. With every mile, I feel sexier, stronger, more confident and happier.
When I look in the mirror today, sure, there is still some sagginess. And while those stretch marks have faded and gotten smaller, they are still there. But today, there is a difference in my mentality. I have reclaimed what is rightfully mine and I don’t hate my body anymore—I’m proud of it.
My body was strong enough to bring an amazing child into this world and it is strong enough to lead me on this path that is giving me a sense of self again. My tight pre-baby body is forever changed, and I’m OK with that. I don’t need to look like a college co-ed anymore. I am a wife and a mommy, after all, but that’s not all I am.
I’m also Ryan, a determined, confident, strong, feminine, flirty 31 year old woman. And now, for the first time in my life, I am a runner.
Coming up: Time-pressed in the kitchen? Three meals, five ingredients, 15 minutes!