How to Stay Active Post Baby Part 5: Excuse #2: "I'm out of shape."
Me, in my mind before heading out on my first post-baby ride. (Actually taken when the baby was about a year old).
Me, in reality, wheezing and remembering how much “fun” biking is, two months post-baby.
After our first daughter was born, the midwife told me I could run again after four weeks, but that day came and went and I didn’t think twice about it. The pre-baby me, the one who wouldn’t take a day off of exercise unless forced and skied until a week before giving birth would have been horrified, but she was no longer around. She had been replaced by some hormone-blissed, sleep-deprived couch potato who felt content to stare at a newborn blob all day while inhaling any and all food that could be prepared and eaten one-handed while holding, nursing, and/or staring at a baby. (She also spilled salsa on the baby more than once—tacos are not a great one-handed meal it turns out.)
I took some stroller walks and then one day, several weeks past when I had been cleared for it, decided it was time to jog. I dug through a drawer I hadn’t opened in a while. My running clothes, now too-small bras and shorts with synthetic liners, felt tight, clingy and unnatural. I finally settled on a two-bra combo—one with pads in case of leakage, and a tighter one on top to limit excess bouncing (who me? bouncing?!!!) and some maternity leggings and a cotton t-shirt, also known as “the polar opposite of sleek and sexy.”
I laced up my shoes and realized I definitely did not want to leave the house. Pushing the stroller down the road had been one thing—clearly that is a proud new mom out moving around and getting fresh air for the baby, so virtuous! Also, mostly hidden behind the stroller. And now it was just me, wanting this “me doing my thing outside” thing to be like before except now it was completely different. I wasn’t expecting to be fast; I never have been except one time in a relay at one high school state track meet. I didn’t expect to look great; I’m perfectly content running in sweatstained cotton t-shirts from the 90s, probably the same one that I wore at that track meet. I had gotten past the mom-guilt of leaving the baby to do something for me, at least for the moment. So what on earth was wrong with me?
Well, for starters, it felt like I was starting over at the very beginning at something that used to be second nature to me, and that was exceedingly uncomfortable. It was uncomfortable to be in that place where I mostly know I would more or less be back to my former activity level at some point in the future, but I wasn’t totally sure deep down because everything was different. And I knew that there was a whole lot of steps, and effort, and negative thoughts piled up in between here and there that I needed to surmount. One measly, jiggly step at a time.
The trail doesn’t care how many bras you’re wearing.
I thought about the book Mastery, by George Leonard, that had helped me change my views on skiing a few years earlier when coming back from an injury. Basically it talks about the importance of the journey, of plateaus and dips, and helped me understand that just showing up no matter what place I was in was what was important. So, I chose a place where no one would see me trudging along at my snail’s pace, and I just started to jog. Miraculously I kept moving for over thirty minutes, and felt just a bit more like myself, and a touch of that special exhilaration that comes with moving and sweating outdoors.
A week and a few more slow jogs later, I went on my first post-baby mountain bike ride. I insisted on going solo. I rode in the smallest gear at a pace slightly above “not moving” for what seemed like an eternity, and just when I was about to stop and get off and succumb to the lurking tears, I swear to you a hummingbird flew right past me, stopping to give a quick look. Suddenly didn’t matter that I was going painfully slow, breathing painfully hard, and sweating my double-brassiere’d chest off. All that mattered was that I was doing it! I was like, “You’re totally right, hummingbird, what on earth could I have to complain about on such a gorgeous day?” And I stayed on the bike the whole way to the top.
But loose, brighly colored cotton shirts seem to help me find my happy place.
A few days later, my husband and I rode together for the first time since the baby and I for sure cried. He had ridden out in front and cleared a section of uphill trail that I used to ride no problem, but this time I didn't get it. He was waiting for me as I pushed my bike to the next flat spot, and a few hot tears leaked out from under my sporty sunglasses. He looked flabbergasted, not unlike the hummingbird.
“Are you crying?”
Sniff.
“What on earth could be wrong?”
“I can’t ride the same stuff I used to be able to!”
“So? You’re out here riding! WE are out here riding! How can you not be happy?”
“I am happy! I am totally happy to be out here riding! With you! And also at the same time I feel frustrated that I can’t ride the same as I could before! Sometimes I feel two different things at the same time!”
Blank stare.
“It’s complicated! You try carrying around a human in your body for nine months and then pushing the human out of your body and having all of these hormones and then tell me how many things you feel at the same time!”
At this point it was too ridiculous and we both had to laugh.
Because of course it’s all totally irrelevant, and ridiculous. The fact that not being in shape is a thing that we think about as the reason we don’t feel comfortable getting outside to do the thing that would get us the thing that we don’t feel is a ridiculous circular argument and something that for sure is a unique human situation. A hummingbird would for sure just be like, “wow it feels weird to fly after laying all those eggs, guess I better keep flying anyways.”
There will be many obstacles in the way! But we will forge on! After maybe waiting a little bit and taking a break to let the obstacle remove itself from our path in a safe manner.
But there is a whole messy complicated pile of emotions that come along with finding oneself in a new role post-kids, and I think it’s totally normal. And I finally realized that the only one who is paying attention to how baggy my clothes are, how I feel, how fast (or not) I am, how much effort it takes or how many bras I am wearing is me. Anyone else? They don’t care if I’m a minute behind them on the trail when I used to be ten seconds behind. A wise friend once told me “We invited you to ride with us because we want to ride with you. We don’t care how long we have to wait for you at the top. But it is much nicer if you show up with a smile on your face rather than apologizing for being so slow, because you’re definitely not.”
The other thing that I finally realized after a few months of just going through the motions, flapping my wings even though I didn’t feel in wing-flapping shape, was that whatever shape I was in was my shape so therefore I was always in shape. I mean, what the hell does “in shape” mean anyways? I for sure can set some goals but worrying about not being there at this moment wasn’t helping a thing. I realized if I focused on each day at at time, working towards feeling strong and capable then I would probably be mostly ready to hike up hard and ski down hard on some mountains when the snow fell again. And if not? Then I would keep skiing anyways, turning left and right, wearing two bras, crying if necessary, and just trusting I was in the right place and exactly the right shape.
Coming out of the tunnel! Gotta go in to get back out. :)
