Confession: When it comes to exercise I’ve become the queen slacker of all slackers.
I used to go to the gym (semi) regularly, and supplemented the in-between days by taking long walks with DH and Puppy. I bought an elliptical machine last winter and used it on days when leaving the house seemed too daunting. I also used to meet a friend after work to get a Zumba class in a few days a week. I was what they call, healthy.
Little by little I’ve fallen away from all-things-exercise and found myself teetering on the brink of schlubbery: I moved and no longer have my trusty Zumba buddy nearby. I cancelled my gym membership last spring to “save money.” My elliptical has magically morphed into little more than a very expensive coat rack. And although I do still go for walks, let’s face it: It’s winter. It’s cold. It’s dark. A quick sprint around the block as I drag Puppy along on his leash hardly counts. The toughest reality though is that—on top of my usual ongoing ovary pain—I’ve had near-constant uterine pain and cramping the past several months. Combined uterine and ovary pain make even the thought of working out seem like a date with a torture chamber. (Fun fact: I can now literally trace an outline of the parameters of my uterus, I know it’s location so well.)
Basically, I lost my mojo.
Over the past few months I’ve noticed my clothes fit just a little bit tighter. (Darn you, washing machine for shrinking all my stuff!) I get winded just a little more easier than I used to (I blame that one on old age—34’s a-comin’!). I’ve felt my energy levels slooooowly dropping (see old age excuse above). I, of course, chalked all this up to stress, IVF, hormones, grief—basically anything I could think of that sounded plausible. I’ve come up with some really great excuses that I could sell to even the most hardened cynic.
Reality: I got lazy.
There’s no way around it. I’ve been loafing, reclining, snoozing, avoiding, rationalizing, blaming, and denying to my little heart’s content.
Time to put a stop to that.
So I rejoined the gym. And I begrudgingly dragged myself there, complaining and mumbling and carrying on the whole way.
And you know what?
It wasn’t that bad.
Okay, actually it was that bad. My merciless personal trainer surely had underlying evil intentions that included my walking as if DH and I had spent a wild night between the sheets for a solid week: but functional use of your legs is soooo overrated. Why rely on your uselessly-sore abs to sit up when wriggling off the bed/couch/chair by hoisting all your weight onto your arms is so much more practical?! And would you really want to walk down the stairs on legs muscles that feel like they’re made of gelatin when sliding down step-by-step on your butt is so much sexier? (True stories. Sad, I know.)
I’ve been forcing myself to go to the gym a few times a week, sans said evil personal trainer. And you know what? This crazy thing happened: it’s getting easier! Very slowly, that is, but still easier. I don’t have to safety pin my favorite dress pants closed for work anymore: that’s pretty exciting stuff.
It’s not that I was really overweight to begin with, but I’ve been dogged by these extra few pounds for far too long now (two words: Desk Job). I’m 5’6″ and look my best when I weigh around 130. Imagine my horror when I weighed in at my family doctor’s office (“GP” for my British friends) and she wrote down a number that hovered dangerously in the mid-140’s. Or when said family doctor discreetly and devilishly slipped a graph into my sheath of take-home papers that indicated I was on the cusp of the “heavy” category. Thanks, Dr. S. And to think, your subtlety was almost lost on me.
What does this have to do with infertility?
Well… it’s not really a stretch: I want to do everything in my power to be as healthy as possible, both for natural TTC cycles and upcoming FET cycle. I imagine that being at a good weight is paramount to healthiness. Despite my sometimes ruminating that getting back to my target weight will be moot since I’ll just gain it back during pregnancy, I know in my heart that’s just another of my many tempting excuses. Instead, I try to see it is as a positive: when I gain pregnancy weight, I’ll be able to use my current wardrobe as maternity wear. Silver linings and all.
Will not shedding a handful of unwanted pounds be a deal breaker for taking home a baby one day soon? Probably not. But it is motivation, and this gal will take all the motivation she can get!
And if things go really well, I might even have before-and-after pics to share one day soon.