After I had my first son, it took me a long time, what felt like half a lifetime, to get back into “shape.” And this was not peak-performance-type shape. This was “run 3 miles without walking” shape. In reality, it took 2 years to get to that point. I know it takes some longer and others shorter. We’re all different. No judgment. 

I did minimal exercise while I was breastfeeding, and I breastfed for 11 months. I didn’t feel like myself or like I owned my own body. Part of me was so amazed by this new life and my body’s ability to provide for him naturally. Another part of me was resentful that so much fell on my shoulders. I think there are countless blog posts and books and Facebook groups about this issue. Breastfeeding is an amazing gift that our babies don’t have the ability to appreciate at the time they’re receiving it and don’t think to be thankful for when they’re old enough to feel things like that. Husbands can’t do it, and it’s not their fault, but in the middle of the night when you’re exhausted and so over being the martyr and the one everyone counts on, everything feels like everyone else’s fault. I have never felt so relieved as when I was finished with breastfeeding. 

Then I got pregnant again and got to enjoy that for a couple of months until I had a miscarriage at 16 weeks. There’s a lot of November/December 2017 that I don’t remember because I just can’t. Somehow, I managed not to put that bit of time in my long-term memory because it was too painful. We moved to the suburbs that December, and the bedroom we had planned for the baby sat empty. It stayed mostly empty for over a year. Maybe at some point I’ll write a post about that whole experience, but for now, suffice it to say that while I’m not afraid to talk about it nor am I ashamed of it for any reason, I’ll keep the focus of this particular post on fitness, or my lack thereof. The miscarriage was obviously much more than just a fitness setback, but it certainly was also that. 

Eventually, I got back into shape. Then I got in really GOOD shape. I was running, biking, swimming, and erging (the rowing machines that rowers love and hate), usually doing two workouts a day, and I was feeling awesome. This lasted about a year. Then I had another miscarriage, this time at 6 weeks. I was so afraid that my workouts had caused the miscarriage (ok, my rational brain KNOWS that probably was not the case, but rational brains take a vacation during times like that), that I completely stopped working out. Thankfully, I got pregnant again pretty quickly. Since only a couple of months had passed, I was still in pretty good shape, despite the fact that I was doing nothing, so I didn’t gain as much weight during this pregnancy. I felt like it should be easier to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Thus began the mania of the second pregnancy. 

I was afraid of everything. I felt like I was waiting for something to go wrong. Making it through the first trimester didn’t feel like much of a milestone this time. During the second trimester, I felt physically better, but all I would do for exercise was walk because I was afraid of anything more intense. I watched my body expanding, afraid of doing anything to harm this baby but also angry at myself for not trying to be more active. Thank goodness, baby boy was born in November, right after the snowiest Halloween to ever come to the suburbs of Chicago.

Maybe because it was winter, or maybe because I was already heading down the road into some postpartum difficulties, I went WAY crazier after my second son was born than my first. I became obsessed with getting back to pre-pregnancy weight and fitness. I started running at 4 weeks postpartum. I ran early in the morning, no matter the weather or temperature. It was always still dark by the time I finished. I ran on days where my weather app said the windchill made it feel like 6 degrees. This was only back in January, just a few months ago. Why did I do this to myself? It already feels like a long time ago, somehow.

It now seems obvious that I had some postpartum depression going on. I didn’t feel sad or angry, but I felt anxious, and this was directed back at my body, as if my physical form was the reason for my emotional distress. Because of the second miscarriage that happened right before the successful pregnancy, I was basically pregnant for a full year. I felt like months were stolen from me.

In general, I felt like I was running out of time. My sister and I had a conversation once after I went for a horrible-feeling run, and I tried to explain to her what was going on in my head. It seemed so unfair that so much time in my life when my body could’ve been at peak fitness was spent growing and then feeding a child. These were potentially my last years that I could be super fit, and then the rest of my life would just be a fight against aging. My peak has already passed, so from now on, I’ll just be trying not to get old. She lovingly and gently told me I was losing it and needed to calm down. 

The point is, I still feel like an athlete and really want to be one. There’s nothing wrong with this as long as there’s a balance. I was “only” a mom for a little while. Then I swung a little too hard into the athlete side of things and was probably a little bit mentally unhealthy about it during this time. I’m not saying I have it perfectly figured out now, but most days, I’m closer to balanced. When my kids are older, there will be a little more leeway, but for now, this is working ok. It feels like I have some time on my side.