Goodbye, Charlotte

I'm sad.  I had originally planned to do a blog post about all the neat new fitness gear I want for Christmas, but I got some disturbing news and would like to share it.

I sat down at my computer this morning with my mocha cappucino and started my day with my 100% favorite blog -- The Great Fitness Experiment.  I only discovered this blog about a year ago.  At the time, I was pregnant and Charlotte was pregnant.  I loved how she continued to be the fitness badass she has always been, especially when it's so common for moms-to-be to plop there legs up and have another bon bon.  I read her entire blog that day like it was coated in crack.  I've mentioned it before on KUrunner, but for those of you who didn't take my advice and immediately rush over, you've missed out.

Charlotte is amazing (and she has awesome hair).  Of course, she doesn't think so, but what does she know?  Maybe it's because she grades the writing portion of the SATs, but her writing style is just wonderful.  She's written comic pieces about having too much soy before an exercise class and she's written tearjerkers about her struggles with addiction and abuse.  She's brutally honest and no topic is off-limits.  (Women, if there's anything you wanted to know about your period and exercise, she'll have the answer.)  Plus, she finds the most hilarious pictures. 

Anyways, I'm in mourning.  I've looked to Charlotte for inspiration this past year and she's never disappointed me.  I completely understand her reasoning for stopping her blog, but it still sucks.  Thankfully, someone is paying her to write The Great Fitness Experiment book, and I'm sure that I'll be the first in line to buy it.  She'll be keeping the webpage up, so if you haven't read GFE yet, I'd recommend going over and starting with post #1 (scroll to the bottom).

And I'll leave you with Charlotte teaching how to do a pull-up (and other naughty things with a training dummy.)

Got a Little Depressed There...

While working on my P90X results post, I started thinking about how much further I have to go to get back to my goal. I don’t have a specific number in my head, but it’s at least another 40 lbs away.

And that’s really depressing.

I was so upset with myself when I gained 87 lbs in less than a year. (Okay, sure part of that was a baby, but still.) Then I lost it. Yay me! Then I gained it again. Un-freaking-believable.

So I leave you with the few pictures I have of me at a comfortable weight.

November 2002

March 2009

Skinny Fat

Kate Harding is one of the masters of this topic, but there are a ton of bloggers who preach Fat Acceptance. Basically, Fat Acceptance means that overweight and obese individuals shouldn’t be discriminated against because of their size. Personally, I’m a huge fan of the movement because I believe nobody should be discriminated against for any reason — be it gender, sexual orientation, race, religion, or the number on the bathroom scale.

Of course, the opposition to Fat Acceptance will argue about the health consequences of being overweight. Yes, I’ll completely agree that someone who weighs 300 lbs and eats a diet of Big Macs probably isn’t the epitomy of health and well-being. But what about someone like myself who has a few extra pounds while eating a mostly healthy diet and running half marathons? It really bothers me that people assume that just because my BMI is above 25, I’m sick. Sure, I’d love to lose 20 lbs and be in the “healthy” range, but my blood pressure is fantastic, my cholesterol is perfect, and I can easily touch my toes.

Would it be better if I was back at 125 lbs with high blood pressure and a cholesterol of above 200? If my BMI was a perfect 22, but I couldn’t run around the block? How about if I looked like Heidi Klum in a bikini but smoked two packs a day?

Just because you’re thin doesn’t mean you are healthy.

Surprisingly, there was a great segment about being “Skinny Fat” on the news the other day. Plus, BMI standards are just ridiculous anyways and not really an indicator of health.

Back to the Drawing Board

Ugh, my first weight gain since I’ve had Harper. I needed to lose 1.6 lbs this week to keep up with my birthday goal; instead, I’m up 0.8. Yeah, yeah… it’s not even a pound. But it really sucks that I’m at the point where the weight isn’t just falling off anymore. I’m breastfeeding! Aren’t breastfeeding moms supposed to burn like a kajillion calories a day and wake up looking like Heidi Klum ready to don tiny lingerie and strut down a runway?

I guess not.

Well, I really didn’t want it to come to this, but I guess I’m going to go back to tracking calories. Sadly, the 5th anniversary of my 24th birthday is only 5 weeks away and I have 10.4 lbs left to lose. I’m not going to throw the towel in yet since 2 lbs a week is still doable, but I really need to reign in the eating. Weight loss is 80% nutrition and I have to admit, I’ve been enjoying the freedom of eating whatever crap I wanted and still see the numbers going down.

I’m off to Nutrition Data to see how much I can eat today.

Bedrest

Four days and no gym.

I love the gym.

Ok, well, I love the gym when people aren’t commenting on how much weight I’ve gained or how I shouldn’t be doing certain things in my “condition.”

For those of us who have spent years or even decades watching the number on the scale or fixating on our pant size, pregnancy can make you feel lost and out of control. Yes, yes, we all know that you have to get bigger and that the end product makes the torture of getting dressed a little easier, but it’s still hard to look in the mirror everyday and know that what you’ve spent the past year working towards is slowly unraveling.

I’m a runner. It took me a long time to be able to say that. Sure, I’ve been running since high school, but it was only last year that I decided I was going to be a “runner.” I ran my first half-marathon one week before I got married and two weeks before we conceived. I tried to keep running through the first trimester, but between fatigue and nausea, it didn’t work out so well. I didn’t make it back to the gym until August and by then, I had lost a lot of stamina. Running was no longer fun and even bordered on painful. I have bad knees anyways, and you can’t take most supplements while pregnant. Plus, pregnancy relaxes your joints — all of them, even your toes. Yeah, it helps when the baby is trying to push his big head out of your tiny pelvis, but it really sucks if you try to run more than a few feet.

It’s also really hard to run when you have to pee every three minutes.

So, my running has gone the way of my size 4 jeans.

I still run on occasion, but it’s usually only a few minutes along with a lot of walking. I’ve also slowed way down. I had imagined myself being one of those amazing pregnant women who ran up until the day they went into labor. You know, the ones who only gain weight in their stomach and maintain perfectly sculpted muscles everywhere else while wearing the most adorable maternity running clothes. (Ok, so I’m not sure where these muscles were going to come from on me, but shut up… it’s my fantasy.)

Yeah, that didn’t happen. I’m pretty sure that when I do run, it’s pretty unflattering. I have a Kim Kardashian butt when I’m not gestating, and I think it’s gotten even bigger. I’m not sure since I can’t bend back far enough to look. Plus, I had a hard time keeping the girls in check before and now with an extra cup size or two, not even the best sports bra can hold them down. Thank God there aren’t mirrors in the cardio room.

Did I mention that I was supposed to be running the Marine Corps Marathon Saturday?

At this point, you might be asking, “Well, if you can’t run, why do you love the gym so much?” And I would respond, “Well, if you are only doing cardio at the gym, you are missing out.”

I <3 weight lifting.

I started weight lifting after I had my first daughter, and I love it. Nothing changes your body like lifting heavy weights repeatedly. I am sure that if I was consistent in my workouts (ie, stopped taking six month long workout breaks every seven months), I would be in fitness model land. That is, if fitness models had stretch marks and cellulite. Weight lifting is also the perfect exercise for pregnant women. You even get to sit down most of the time! I’ve been lifting again for 2 months now (after a three month break, aka the trimester of doom) and I really look forward to it. Sometimes I feel awkward because I go to a military gym and about 99% of the other lifters are men. Very big, muscley, strong men. With lots of tattoos. But now, they accept me with a nod and we all go back to our own business. Plus, I keep a workout log (if you don’t have one, you should start one… trust me) and it’s great to look back to August and see that I’m pressing double the weight that I was then and that I’m benching twenty more pounds. In a time of chaos and hormones, it’s nice to know that my body isn’t losing everything I have been working towards, at least yet.

It’s hard for women to build muscle. We just don’t have the testosterone levels that men do and testosterone is what builds muscle. Pregnant women have even smaller amounts of testosterone than their non-gestating counterparts. So, it’s really, really hard for pregnant women to build muscle. Hell, it’s hard for us just to maintain our muscle mass so the gains in strength that I’m seeing make me pretty happy. I’m anticipating losing some muscle when I have the baby and can’t go to the gym for 6 weeks and during the third trimester when I have no energy to go to the gym.

I think that’s what is bothering me about being put on bedrest.

I’m on “modified” bedrest which means I can get up to go pee (which I do a lot), I can make myself something to eat, and I can drive Kaelin to school. I’m not supposed to be doing housework, taking the dog for a walk, or going grocery shopping. I’m now sedentary — doing only what I need to for basic survival. In addition to not burning my normal three to four hundred calories at the gym, I’m not burning the 100 calories by vacuuming the house or the 50 calories by doing laundry. Those little activities add up. I’m very interested to see how my weigh-in goes this week, since I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster since this weekend and living off of chocolate, pasta, and fast food.

Plus, daytime TV really sucks and the weather is perfect outside to take the dog for a walk.

I'm Not 20 Anymore

Last night, we went into downtown Charleston for dinner. Charleston is full of two types of people, tourists and college students. The University of Charleston is spread throughout the city and it seemed like the student body was out in full force last night.

Between getting my bachelors and then grad school, I have spent most of my adult life in college. But I’m not a “college kid” anymore. Now that I’m approaching my thirties, I realize that I will never be the thin, tan girl walking around town in booty shorts with sorority letters on the butt. Not that I think it’s a good look on someone who hasn’t had kids and is still cellulite free let alone someone in their forth decade of life, but I wish I still had that option.

I NEVER dressed like that. In high school, I never thought once about my weight or my size. I was really comfortable with myself, but my school had a pretty strict dress code excluding short shorts and tank tops. Although I lived on the water, I rarely swam and don’t remember owning a bathing suit, let alone a bikini. I’ve always been a jeans and flannel (shut up, grunge was in then) kind of girl.

When I started college, I was a mom who had gained 87 lbs. I was 21, but I definitely had no desire to walk around campus showcasing the goods. I lost most of the weight and was at a much healthier 125, but I still felt fat. Well, not fat. More like not fit. I was thin again, but this time I had stretch marks and cellulite. I was a size 4, but I kept telling myself that after I lost a few inches I would feel better. THEN, I would wear those shorts. I even bought a pair of skimpy red shorts that said KANSAS in blue letters, of course with the intent of drawing everyone’s eyes to my butt. I never took the tag off. No matter how small I was, I was never comfortable enough to wear them, even around the house.

And I regret that.

There is a very limited time in life that someone can get away with showing that much skin, and your 30s aren’t it. I feel terrible saying this, but every time I go into Wal-Mart, I see older women dressing like preteens and it makes me want to run off and call Stacy and Clinton. I’m not quite ready to embrace my age, but I will NEVER go out in public dressed the same as my daughter. I mean, Pamela Anderson still has a great body, but really, who wants to see every inch of it now? So even once I have this baby and get back down to my goal weight, I won’t be wearing those shorts I have been saving for almost 10 years. At least, not in public. (Skinny jeans are the new booty shorts anyways.)

But if I could, I would go back in time and shake my 21 year old self and make her wear those shorts… at least once.