March 2012, One month after Luke's birth
July 2013, Family Vacation
The pictures above were taken 16 months apart. 16 months and approximately 183,256 hours worth of workouts apart.
Now that I've lost the weight, I feel like I can come clean: I gained 50 lbs with each of my pregnancies. That's 5-0, y'all. And actually, it was 50 with Audrey and 55 with Luke.
Ridiculous. Unhealthy. Regretful.
Getting it off took hard work. I mean 4:45am-alarm-for-a-5:30-spin-class, 6:00am-runs-in-the-dark, passing-up-pizza-for-another-stupid-salad, being-so-sore-it-hurt-to-move kinda work. And the kicker? I'm still working. I once read the maintenance phase of weight loss described as 75% of the work with 0% of the fun. You don't get the thrills of seeing the scale go down or buying new clothes or people noticing the changes in your physique. You just have to continue to bust your tail lest you hear the whispers "I knew she'd put it back on..." and have to start rummaging through the fat clothes pile you have stashed in your closet "just in case".
I'm only about four months into this rejuvenated fitness stage. (Sidenote: After delivery, I was left with 35 lbs to lose. The first 15 lbs came off relatively quickly from nursing and dieting in the months after Luke was born. The last 20 came back so often I considered a restraining order until I finally got real about it and flipped the switch in April of this year.) There is still work to be done and each week it's a commitment which path I'm going to choose.
But can I tell you how awesome that second picture is to me? How I would often visualize that picture during workouts before it even existed? And truthfully, it isn't about how I look in that picture, though that's certainly a piece of it. What I recall when I look at that picture is a Mama who had a horrific night's sleep the night before because my baby boy was up hour after hour. But I know that that Mama chose to get up at5:45 and go run anyway. And that Mama ran 10K on the beach that morning while watching the sun rise and praising God for legs that worked and a view that astounded. And that Mama still had energy to jump waves with her very active four year old later that morning. I see a woman who has her confidence back. Who doesn't cringe at the image in the mirror anymore. Whose clothes fit. Whose arms and legs and heart are strong from lifting weights and running miles.
This is not a prideful thing. This is a praise God I'm taking care of His creation again. It's a if-I-can-do-this-anyone-can thing. It's a happy thing.
No, the body of the woman in the second picture isn't 100% perfect. (She is still sporting the board shorts, after all. Those thunder thighs are large and in charge.) She is nowhere near what Hollywood says she should look like. But she's made at least a little peace with herself. And she wishes and prays and hopes so hard that her daughter notices and emulates that attitude within herself.
That's what I see. I hope seeing that helps you visualize your image of change.
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