Wordful Wednesday: Unfit for Springtime

How long does it take to get out of shape? Not nearly as long as it took to get in shape in the first place. Just a couple of gray, overcast, subzero months will do it, months that felt more like years, huddled up in a shapeless parka, reaching for the chocolate to compensate for the chopped lips, the cracking hands, and that chill that seeps right to your bones.

I felt fit during those long hibernating months. I played tennis three days a week, jumped on the elliptical every once in a while. But with every bowl of macaroni and cheese comfort, I settled into winter hibernation. It was necessary. It was survival.

When I laced up my running sneakers and went outside yesterday, mesmerized by the dazzling blue sky and the manic birds in the trees, I couldn't wait to race through the streets, wind in my hair, heart pounding like last summer. But when my feet hit the pavement, my legs were lead. Each step was slower than the next. I was plodding, not flying, and it was hard, more torture than recreation. The street is a tough talker, she doesn't lie and coddle you.

It took 20 minutes for the sweat to come, and my heart to start pounding. My legs still felt heavy, but as the sweat began dripping down my forehead, I felt glimmers of the power within, hints of the exhilaration I felt that glorious August day when I ran on the beach in California, sea lions barking in the distance, waves crashing on the sand. Spring is right around the corner, and so is my springtime in shape body.

The street is a tough trainer, but I know she will me reward in the end.

Happy Wordful, Five Minutes Wordless, and Way-back wednesday.

No More Boot Camp Fear

I consider myself a fairly fit person. I play tennis regularly, I run three miles a couple times a week either outside or on the elliptical in our basement. But there's one type of physical activity that I have always avoided like the plague: Boot Camp Classes. Just the name alone fills me with a quiet terror and visions of me vomiting in bushes.

When MJ Tam of Chicagonista and theChicagoMoms emailed me to invite me to join a select group of local media for a 6-week long total revamp project organized by her and Stacey of Mom Renewal, I was intrigued. The stress of the move replaced my exercise routines with a tire of excess flab. With the kids finally back in school and most of the boxes carted away by the garbage men, I was definitely ready for a little revamping.

I was about to hit send on my enthusiastic "Count me in!" response when a more careful read of the email gave me pause. The fitness component of the revamp project would be boot camp classes courtesy of Ryan and Bryan from Total Results Training multiple times a week. My fear of boot camp was now kicked up to a new level because with a crowd of bloggers, my puking would be captured on Flip cameras and iphones and uploaded to YouTube, Twitter and Facebook within seconds.

I ended up saying yes anyway. It was just too hard to ignore the lure of a beauty revamp. And that's how I found myself driving into Chicago on Wednesday evening to a little park in a gentrifying neighborhood called Eckhart Park. I couldn't actually tell you the neighborhood's name; I'm still completely at the mercy of my GPS; I get to Chicago by driving straight until I reach the lake. 

There were 8 of us lunging, crunching and sweating that first night as the sun set, painting the sky a deepening purple. Local youths strolled by, shouting "Go Mama!" The setting was barebones and slightly gritty, no luxuries to mask our exercise. Our trainer was as fit as I expected, his clothes weren't tight but you could just tell that he was perfectly toned by the feline way he moved. But his fitness was the end of the boot camp stereotype. He used no whistle or bull horn and he never raised his voice as he guided us through an hour of stretching, toning, and a little cardio. The next day my body felt alive with pain, and it was wonderful.

I've had many amazing experiences thanks to blogging from dining with Rocco DiSpirito to meeting the Duchess of York, and I have a feeling that this ReVamp project will end up being the most life-changing experiences blogging has granted me. Two sessions in, I feel like I am reconnecting with my abs, like long lost friends that I lost touch with nine years ago.  

Here's a little video MJ put together of the morning group on Wednesday. You won't see any footage of me (hee hee!) but you can get a sense of the trainers and what you can expect. Total Results Training is currently offering a free session. Their number is (312)226-5635.

I Only Ate Half and I Melted Away

Tomorrow is Book Club day over on the Silicon Valley Moms Blogs and this month we've read It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson, a book about how she delt with her bulimia. This post was inspired by the book and my thoughts on eating disorder issues.

Two years ago, I took Bella into our local dance store to get her a new dance outfit. This shopping trip was a rare trip, something she'd been looking forward to and planning for weeks. She was about to turn five and this would be her first year in a real dance school. We took our time walking around the store, trying out tutus in different styles and making sure her ballet slippers fit just right. There was so much to choose from: short sleeve, long sleeve, sleeveless, attached skirt, sparkles or plain. We spent a delicious hour selecting the outfit that would make her feel like the prettiest ballerina.

By the time we walked up to the register to pay, my mind was already on the next set of errands on my list. I looked up absently at the ageing dancer behind the counter. She was smiling falsely and speaking to Bella who was busy trying to hide behind my legs.

"What a pretty girl you are! You really have a beautiful dancer's body. So thin and long! Just gorgeous."

Bella didn't say anything back, just looked down at her feet and tugged my hand towards the door. I was speechless. I knew she meant well, but still she had no right to comment on my daughter's body, to give her a first taste of the power of body image. The store owner had planted the seed of fear in Bella, fear that she could lose the dancer's body she hadn't even known she had until that moment.

I never worried about my weight as a child until I went off to boarding school for the last two years of high school. A continent away from my family at sixteen, I turned to large pizzas and quarts of Ben & Jerry's cookie dough to dull my homesickness and academic stress. I added thirty pounds to my slim frame which I didn't lose until sophomore year in college.

My weight loss method wasn't a healthy, rational diet. I basically starved myself by eating half of what I wanted: half a bagel, half a Snackwell cookie, or half a banana. I craved the energy I derived from being slightly hungry all the time. Of course, I lost more than the thirty pounds I had put on and got down to 105 pounds. I thought I looked so beautiful, so lean and thin. When my mom met me at the airport after school ended in June, she asked me if I had AIDS.

I wrestled with my flirtation with anorexia for the next year before finally deciding that I loved food too much to be hungry all the time. Although I now have a healthy relationship with food, I occasionally slide back into old obsessive patterns, only to be brought back to reality by my husband who's never afraid of telling me I'm acting crazy.

I just hope that when my daughters start to wrestle with their own body image demons, they'll be able to learn to learn from my mistakes. Or that at the very least, I'll be able to reach them before they too decide to eat half of what their body tells them they need.

Curves

At various times in my life, during high school, or after each of my babies, I've had more curves on my body than I've been happy with. I get these love handles - these extra bumps over my hips - that look unnatural and strange. They certainly are nothing you would see on a Barbie body.

Luckily for me, I happen to have an active metabolism. I can generally make those extra curves disappear by cutting out desserts for a while. Since my third child, however, it's not as easy as it once was. And, just like I've become accustomed to the rapidly growing number of grey hairs on my head, I've had to add exercise to my life to keep those curves away. Even though exercise is fairly new to me, I enjoy the running and the sessions on the elliptical. I look forward to the cleansing feeling of sweat pouring out of me as my heart races.

What I don't like is having to worry about when I'll work out, and stressing about cramming it into my days. I also don't like weighing whether or not I should have dessert. I want my youth back with its carelessness and its effortlessness, back when I couldn't imagine that I would ever have to embrace my extra curves as a permanent part of my aged body.

This piece was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings writing prompt: Curves.