So my husband is running. He has not done one second of exercise in the last two years since the stress induced “cardiac episode” that scared the crap out of all of us. What this means is now he jumps out of bed at 5:00 AM and runs three-plus miles every other day. Because that’s normal, to just start running three miles straight without an app that gently eases you into it over a nine week period. Good for him, right? I am thrilled that he is countering his Coors Light intake with some much needed exercise. It’s good for both his heart and his soul, but now he looks at me with sympathy and distain as I sit quietly on the couch and read my erotica. He says things like, “why don’t you go get on the treadmill”? Or, “should you really be snacking this late at night”? Really, dude? Really? Up until a month ago, I would find empty containers of peanut butter and graham cracker boxes littering the recycling bin. Now I’m the asshole because I have not yet found that same inner motivation he has? Whatevs. I can tell you what to do with your fancy fitted running shoes.
I am the first to admit that I need to exercise. I am mortified to say that I have gained 40 pounds over the last two years and that I officially weigh more than I did at nine months pregnant. Ugh, what a horrible feeling. I don’t get it. I look in the mirror and do not see the obese troll that takes my place in pictures that end up on the school Facebook page. Who’s the fat girl and where the hell did my neck go? Why does my stomach lop towards my vagina, when did my arms start to wobble, and why the hell do my thighs rub together? I was always thin. I had perfect, perky 34C cups and a tight ass. I had a fucking thigh gap! Now my 38DDD boob status and size Large Vanity Fair Kohl’s panties just piss me off. What happened to me?
At what point did I become the person who follows that large woman in the 21 Day Fix videos doing the “modification exercises”?
Here’s what has happened. I’m tired. The most tired I have ever been in my life. I have a kid that has anxiety that manifests itself every August before school starts. The difference is, this year it isn’t going away and I am struggling to cope. The mornings are getting rougher, more crying, not cooperating, not doing the usual morning “get ready routine”. I have to be more hands on and it sucks. This is the kid I could always count on to run the ship while I get ready for work and now she can’t complete a sentence without second-guessing herself. She was the one who sprung out of bed, got dressed, and brushed her teeth before I even opened my eyes. Now I am dragging her out of bed by her feet and pleading with her to do simple routine tasks all while my husband takes a 30 minute poop as he watches the latest ESPN podcast. My frustration is evident. Sometimes I hold it together and try my best to be patient, sometimes I swear and yell. I’m not a perfect mom, nowhere near it. This shift in my daughter’s behavior has doubled my own morning routine. I have been running late for work as a result, and my appearance has taken a beating. The evening routine isn’t much better. I am mentally wiped. After I get dinner made, kitchen cleaned, homework folders sorted, backpacks packed, lunches made, clothes laid out and kids in bed….I need a strong drink, not a workout. While I do all this, the 5K hero sits back on the couch and seems annoyed when I tell him his kids are in bed and want him to come say goodnight. Then I toss and turn all night thinking about all the ways I am screwing up.
So that’s the story. I am fat because my kid has anxiety. Seriously, I just laughed at me, too. What a joke, I literally just blamed my sweet, struggling seven year old for my pants no longer fitting. Pull yourself together woman and own it! YOU ARE LAZY. All that shit I said about my kid and my life was true, but I know just as much as the next person that exercise is the key to all the other issues. If there is one thing I am hoping my girls get into over the years, it’s Girls on the Run or some sort of run club. I would love for them to learn a life skill like running and actually enjoy it. I have been trying to get into running for years. I long for a “runners high” that never comes…story of my life. Fat and sober.
From now on, my new mantra is:
Work out, have more energy.
Work out, sleep better.
Work out, look better.
Now, I just need to figure out how to get myself out of bed in the morning!
Bio: Mom of two girls.