It was on my heart to share something quick this morning.
In January I had two blood transfusions. This was a month after I lost my 18 week old baby boy.
It happened. Even after I almost died, I still managed to lose my focus and get wrapped up in my post-miscarriage body image.
For almost one month I could hardly walk up and down our stairs without getting dizzy. Showering was a battle. I hadn’t worked out regularly in three months. Emotionally, I was in the worst state of my life.
Then one morning, I got a call from 24 hour fitness in March to teach BodyPump from an audition the fall prior. Everything in me wanted to say no! I thought, how on earth can I teach BodyPump in a few weeks?? There is no way! But something inside of me said “do it”. So I said yes. Then I got off the phone and fretted like a crazy woman. Tears streamed down my face and I was angry at myself. Why did I say yes? Why did I think I could do this? I still remember looking down at my belly and grabbing a handful of fat, already feeling the judgement of class-goers.
I started doing HIIT at home in my basement. 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there. Push-ups. Sit ups. Basics. The first time I tried I remember doing ten squats and then giving up. I didn’t know how I would be able to teach a class. “Slow and steady, steady and smooth” is something I kept telling myself, something Brian, my husband, reminds me often.
Soon I could do a BodyPump class with no weight. A week later I added some small dumb-bells
Fast forward to today, 5 months later, and I am lifting more than I ever have. It makes me want to cry when I think about it. I can’t really put a finger to what it is, but I think it was pushing through me ego. Teaching not for myself or how I look in the mirror but for my fitness, for compassion for others who had to endure with their health that made them feel like they couldn’t get back in shape ever again. It stopped being about “me”.
I still remember one workout at our Crossfit gym where I was on my way to a pull-up bar and I literally left the room in tears. My face got hot with anger because my body couldn’t do what I wanted it to. I felt like a failure. That night I felt the love of friends and family stand beside me and root me on, and gently remind me to be patient with myself.
It’s kinda funny now to think of, but I know that it’s a real anxiety so many people have when they step in the gym. I wanted to share because our heart is so much stronger than our minds or bodies. My heart aches for every mom who is nervous to get back into a workout routine. Compassion fills me for those who are ashamed to step foot into class. But I want to say this: join me, and do it with me! We can do this. Slow and steady, steady and smooth. Every rep does count. Five minutes a day adds up. Do it for something other than the mirror. Find your “why” and stick with it. This is so much more than just fitness. This “why” is in everything in life.