Looking good on my terms

A woman I periodically see at the gym stopped me in the cafeteria at work today. She told me I looked great and asked if I’d lost a ton of weight. 

I had to resist the urge to throw my arms around her neck and cuddle her.  I’m not kidding, I was so grateful for the compliment that my nose twitched to nuzzle her neck.

The truth is I’ve been working really hard at the gym and at the table for some time now.

Let me tell you, it has not come easy. And to be completely honest, I haven’t shed that many pounds. The changes have come in the form of toning and reshaping. I’ve been weight training three times a week (a class called Bodypump), and running and cycling the other days.

It took me about four months to cement this workout schedule. I fought myself the entire time. At the beginning I’d let just about any excuse deter me from going down to the gym:  

Not enough sleep?

Too tired.  

PMS?  

Too emotional.

Reruns of Parenthood again? 

Too distracted – how can I be expected to work-out not knowing if Jasmine and Crosby are back together?

And on and on.

But then I began loving it, really needing to get those workouts in for my sanity’s sake.

I’d always been into exercise of some sort – my metabolism had dug its heels in early -  by the end of my adolescence, refused to budge unless I took drastic measures. I've always gained weight easily and was up 60 and 50 pounds with Deaglan and Naveen respectively. 

 I’ve always struggled with body image. 

I remember being seven years old and conscious of the small soft rolls of my stomach. In grade five when skin tight RoadRunner jeans were in, I yearned to have a rear end to fill them out. In university when all the girls I knew were aiming for Kate Moss waifish-ness, I was looking to specialty shops for bras that gave me enough support.

But after I had my boys, I changed my mind about what I wanted to look like and why. I stopped with the nonsense of coveting what I saw on TV and magazine ads. I decided I wanted to look good because it felt good. I decided I wanted to be healthy so I could live long enough to do all the things I’d been dreaming about. 

And yet even regular exercise wasn't giving me the changes I wanted. 

Up until this point, I'd avoided addressing my eating habits. Oh it's not that I was feasting on fast food and milkshakes everyday. On the whole I'd say I  ate okay - always brown rice, whole wheat bread, whole wheat pasta, green salads, chicken, salmon and fruit.  But I had to admit I was now in my forties and maybe I needed to cut some of the pasta and bread out, replace them with raw or cooked vegetables and beans. I could no longer indulge in the pizza we ordered for the kids once a week, could no longer consider wraps from McDonald's a healthier choice those nights we were just too tired to cook. 

Because I didn't want to flirt with idea of losing the weight and getting healthy anymore. I wanted to actually do it. 

So I started making healthier choices at every meal. I shifted my thinking about what constituted a meal, embraced the notion that rice, pasta or potatoes didn't have to be on my plate just because I'd grown up believing they did. I began giving all vegetables a chance - not just the ones that fit neatly into my idea of a salad.

I'd likely not be a good candidate for one of those before and after shows - my progress has been slow and gradual and I've certainly got a longer way to go. And I've made friends with the realization that I'll always have to exercise and eat right to maintain a healthy weight. 

In fact I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with running all the time. 

And there's also this: I've never felt I had to trim down to gain my husband's approval - he says the nicest things all the time about how I look (believe me I've suggested on more than one occassion he consider asking for a stronger prescription for his glasses).  And whenever I lament that attaining a flat stomach would require major surgery, I look at those boys of mine and know that a bit of a belly is a small price to pay for such heavenly gifts. 

Does our camera add 10 pounds??

I took advantage of Shaune's break from school a few weeks ago when he was home during the day by getting back into walking. Alone. Hands free, oblivious and listening to music. My music, not Raffi or Anne Murray.

Michael Jackson is always in the mix. A carryover from my growing up, something that refuses to be relegated to my past. Seduces me into thinking I can dance. People watching would likely argue.  Reality and fantasy have a clear distinction; I have no moves to speak of. Possibly I did a few times after too much wine but probably only in my opinion.

Sort of like how you see your body right after you have children. Your mind's eye sees you the old way but if you get caught by the camera, the cold hard truth, the damages can't be denied.

Let me back up here. I know who I am. I've never been a showstopper when it comes to my looks but with some effort I can clean up okay. 

With each baby I gained 60 pounds (Deaglan) and 50 pounds (Naveen). I lost the weight easier when it was just Deaglan. I strapped him into the stroller everyday at naptime and walked for an hour and a half. With Naveen it's been slightly more problematic. (Read uncooperative toddler)

So I've had to focus on eating less. Literally zip my lips. It's not that I have a volatile relationship with food. Believe me, I have enough issues, they just don't centre around eating. However, nursing this time around gave me wicked cravings for sugar. Christmas did me in. I couldn't control my cookie intake. I walked around in a haze of sugar, butter and flour.

Once I stopped including oreos as the side dish for every meal, a few more pounds came off. I'm almost back to the pre-pregnancy weight, which though not my ideal state, I can live with for now.

My body is not the same. Of course it's not. I'm almost 40, I've had two kids, it's to be expected. But my perspective has changed. I've given up admiring and coveting  celebrity's bodies. Who needs that kind of self-inflicted torture? 

I want to be the right weight for a better more important reason than my reflection. I want to stick around to see that other phase of my life.

Grandkids.

I've watched with delight how my inlaws drool over my babies. They love my children the way only grandparents can. No apologies, grinning like fools at every new evolution.   I want that someday. I want it to come full circle, want to see my boys become new parents, hear them talk excitedly about a new tooth, complain about not sleeping, ask me to babysit.

Giving up a few oreos is worth that.

Oh, if you live around here, and happened to see some idiot walking down Commissioner's randomly trying to do the moonwalk recently, it wasn't me.

The pictures of me (obviously excluding the preggo shot) were taken by Shaune yesterday. I had to change outfits three times and still this is the best he got. I looked at the pictures and sadly realized, I'm not as skinny as I thought I was.