The Fitness Journey

Before I got pregnant the first time, I was in pretty good shape.  The best I've ever been in, I'd say.  I've NEVER had a hot bod by any stretch, but it's felt pretty good to live in.  Then, having a miscarriage frightened me away from any physical exertion.  Out of running, working out and yoga, I only stuck with the lame yoga for pregnant chicks DVD for the first 2 trimesters of my second pregnancy, then it was lay around and wait to have a baby.  After having Carter, I only had 7 extra pounds to get rid of, which I didn't think was that bad.  But, little sleep and eating whatever and whenever took my weight up instead of down.  I'd read that at 6 weeks you can start exercising again, and if a book says it's ok, I generally go with it.  Lesson:  Listen to your body.  I did a full yoga session anyway and thought I would DIE.  Really, though.  I was in hurting in places that I fully expected to be hurting, my heart was racing and I was having a hormonal sweat.  I'm sure I did more damage than good that day, but I thought, "I've just got to get back on the horse."  But, I didn't.  I didn't really do anything active consistently until Carter was about 7 months old.  As a reward, I reached pre-pregnancy weight at about 9 months old.  

If I could make it there, I could go farther.  At 1 year I've lost another 8 pounds.  I feel so ready to step things up and get back to a strenuous activity level, but I'm finding that my body won't let me.  Each morning (except Sunday) I put Carter in his stroller after breakfast and we walk almost 2 miles.  Lately, I've jogged a bit.  At first, my legs weren't very strong and would start getting tired and force me to walk again.  Today, I decided that I would start off running and run the entire way.  To my frustration, my lungs and airways gave out before my legs did.  I had an asthma attack.  When I was young, I had exercise induced asthma.  I really haven't had problems with it in a long time, but then I haven't pushed my body and my lungs the way I did today.  It was a beautiful day, I felt great, I ran about 3/4 mile and then BAM--the burning, the airways closing, the gasping for breath.  I wanted to cry.  I have the motivation and I'm making the time, but my body doesn't want to cooperate.  I did a little reading on the condition and the treatment, aside from prescription drugs, is to walk.  

Dreams

For the past few nights, Jeff and I have had some strange dreams.  Where do these things come from?  Our thoughts, our fears, our hopes?  It seems like all those things wound into a place in our minds where nothing makes much sense.  

Jeff had a dream that Carter died and we had a little girl a while later.  The dream was at the hospital on the day of her birth.  Since then, I have been so aware of each move that Carter makes.  I'm more careful when I drive.  I cut his food into smaller pieces.  I jump if he coughs.  Whatever that dream sprang from, it translated into some very real fears for me.  I know that would be the biggest pain I'd ever have to face, so there's part of me that imagines that dreams come from a place of some truth.  Possibly as a warning? Now I feel like it's my job to watch Carter like a hawk should there be an ounce of truth to it.

Last night I had a dream that I think sprung from my difficulty to trust anyone, including Jeff.  We were in a crowded auditorium, which I think was the auditorium where we hold church, but 3 times the size--Eastside high school, and we were fighting.  Apparently I had caught Jeff looking at porn.  The most frustrating part of it was that I was crying and obviously hurt about the situation, but Jeff was laughing through all his words in the most disrespectful and uncaring way.  I kept getting more and more upset, but he was unaffected by my emotions.  He didn't care that I was hurt.  I woke up feeling as if it had just happened.  I was on the verge of tears and I felt so insecure.  I tried to talk to Jeff about it and he tried to make me feel better, but I can't shake it.

Sometimes I wish that I could escape dreaming.  They may start as thoughts or images, but they make their way into our lives and change who we are.

What is up with me?

Does anyone else ever ask themselves that?  What is UP with me?  It seems I've spent most of my 31 years chiseling away at this little comfort bubble that surrounds me.  I'm comfortable at home, with my family, with myself...but not with much else.  I suppose it's just the personality that I've been given--I'm an introvert.  I've never been much on speaking in front of others, and I find myself on some days not wanting to speak much at all.  But, it comes and goes.  Most of the time, I can muddle through being a sociable person and no one really notices.  It's an act I've perfected in the last 12 years or so since high school.  Then, I was the quiet girl.  I hated that, so I vowed to make a new start and a new me.  I think I did pretty well.  I can make friends and be in a group...and with no time or money spent on counseling (ha ha).

It's on those days that it "goes" that I'm asking myself that ever-so-serious question: Mandi, really, what is UP with you?  Take for example, a little outing that I went on last week.  Each Wednesday morning I take Carter to a playdate with some other kids his age.  It gives him the chance to be around other children to develop some social awareness and it gives me a chance to get out of these four walls and talk to other moms who are going through the same life issues that I am.  Most weeks, I LOVE it.  I like these people and we have a lot in common.  But this week I don't know what was going on.  It seemed like every word that came out of my mouth was so completely random and without much merit.  And, I could hear myself from inside my head with this annoying little echo.  Talking seemed so out of place on this day.  I tried to coach myself from the inside: "Come on Mandi--say something intelligent or halfway interesting", "Why don't you try smiling", "You're not being very perky--perk up, girl!"  But I was stuck inside awkwardness and self-consciousness and childishness.  Honestly, I think GROW UP and SUCK IT UP.  I'm afraid it usually just comes across as my being snobby or uninterested, but that's not the case.

It is sadness that brings these days of inner quiet on?  I don't think so.  I don't feel sad.  I really am so happy with my life on most days.  In thinking about it over the last few days, I think it's just who I am.  Not everyone can be the life of the party and some of us are just meant to listen sometimes.  I'm ok with that.  

At least I think I'm fooling most everyone.  I've tried to tell some people that I'm really pretty shy and quiet.  They think that isn't possible for a teacher.  Teaching is different, though.  I relate it much to an actor on a stage.  When I teach in front of a room filled with children and their little eyes and their little ears absorbing it all, I'm acting out a role in my life.  When I have on that hat, my voice is different.  I can sing, dance, act silly, read with feeling, talk intelligently (usually), show affection and emotion.  Maybe I just need to learn to translate that into other areas of life.  As my friend Robin says, "Just do it on behalf of yourself"

On a not totally separate subject, what is UP with people who feel the need to spill their entire lives and deepest secrets upon first meeting?  I guess I, of all people, just DO NOT get that.  I mean, don't you have some veil of intimacy that we need to get past as friends to be able to spill some of that stuff?  I'm sure I feel that way because whenever I get to the point that I feel I can talk about myself on a personal level to someone, I always feel somewhat guilty afterwords.  Did they really want to know all that?  Am I forcing them to carry a burden of knowledge that they weren't ready or willing to take on?  

Ah, it's like another job to me--something I have to work at every day.  Relationships, conversations, connecting, friendships--all work, but all definitely worth the trouble.