How today's body pump class happened :)

I was up at 6 a.m for body pump. Gym clothes were ready, so I just needed to get ready and get out of the door. I could not find my scooter keys. The toddler must have taken it from me after I returned from the yoga class last Friday and it could be somewhere amidst his toys. Anyway, I could not find the keys. It was 6.50 a.m and the class began at 7. What did I do? Guess?

 

I decided I just run to the gym instead. I'd be warmed up in case the class started on time. And in case the class was too full, and there were no bars left? I'd do the cardio instead. The point is to get SOME exercsie right? So what if I did not do body pump?

 

So I laced up and ran to the gym. The class had begun and the warm up was almost over when I reached. I looked around. There was a bench, a bar, a mat and some one was sweet enough to give me a couple of 2.5 kg plates! So I joined in for the rest of the class. Of course, I cannot do the push ups right, even the "girl" push ups. Even one. Nope. Not even one. But I can do the lunges, squats, dead lifts, shoulder presses, tricep dips & extensions, bicep curls, pec flys and almost the whole ab routine. So what I can do is far more than what I can't do, right? I will get there. Slowly but surely!

 

I have totally rocked the work-outs this month, so far. Check out my work-out page here. I might not be able to exercise for next 5 days. Wedding and all. But I'll still do what I can. I'm  carrying my new running shoes - my Adidas - Response Stability which feels so good for my flat foot - just in case so that I don't have a dumb excuse if I am presented with an opportunity to run. Wow... look at me. I really have changed!

 

 

A Run and a Revelation

Yesterday, something new happened.

The toddler went to bed half an hour earlier than usual.

As the Scientist was putting him into the crib, I asked, if we could go out for a walk. (To keep up with my monthly goal) The scientist said yes. I got into my tracks, t-shirt, socks and reebok shoes. I threw a sweat shirt over. It was chilly outside, and I don’t want to get sick by being stupid and running in the wintry (read : also smoggy) Bangalore night.

The Scientist came in shorts, tee and berks. I find that my left foot still hurts (after the fracture before baby’s birth) when I wear shoes. Slip on foot wear is ok. But when I wear shoes, I can still feel the pain. But we went on.

I had to run to keep up with the Scientist’s fast paced walking. I was comfortable, running in relatively darker, lesser populated parts of the road. We passed a night club. A couple got out of a taxi with their may be 4 year old son, and entered the pub. The Scientist and I stared at each other in disbelief, and then walked on.

I walked a lot, and ran a little. I feel happy to be able to run. I remember how pathetic I felt about myself when I had fractured both feet one and a half years ago. Running feels particularly empowering in that context. And I felt grateful as well.

We returned home in about 40 minutes. I took the four floors up by the stairs. The Scientist took the lift. He reached first. I remembered the time, when we as children used to race the lift. Have you ever done that?

I asked the Scientist to take pictures of me, “for the record”, so as to be able to compare a month later, when I should have lost some more weight. I looked at the picture of myself. I did not feel shy, like I have been before. I have come a long way, I can tell. The picture shows progress- weigh wise, I mean. I have always shied away from photographs, with family, friends, weddings, celebrations, picnics and even with my baby. I have always hoped that I will magically become invisible. But yesterday was different. I was looking at myself objectively. I could handle what I saw. I did not want to be invisible.

Yesterday, I was probably the same weight I was at before I got pregnant with Chittu. I probably even looked younger then. But I have taught myself to change the way I think. Being fat may be ugly. But it does not make me an outcast. Or a criminal. Or a bad creation of God. The realization falls on me easily. But the journey was a hard one.  

For want of a better title - Change! When did that creep in?

Today, I went home for lunch to see the little fellow, fast asleep in his crib. Some days he'd be awake, and a torrent of naughty ideas, flow one after the other, strikingly incessant. Some days he'll run to me, hug my knees and ask to be carried. And on many days, I will be ignored like the clock in the house, and his attention will all be directed towards his care-taker, as if I just did not matter to him. Those days, I feel sad.

Although I went back to work a whole year after Chittu was born, pangs of guilt accost me like a villian. We even moved our home so that my work place is less than a five minute walk from my home. I have the luxury of going home for lunch, not as much for a warm meal, as for checking on the baby, and reassuring myself that things are ok. But I still feel bad telling my son every morning, that I have to go to work, and will be back to play with him by lunch time.

Rewind, to my years of college, where I took pride preening myself as a feminist, and not accepting why at all the institution of marriage should change so many things in a woman's life. I cannot believe that I have little threads tugging at my heart as I step out of the house every morning. Nobody told me to change. The Scientist is most supportive of my decisions. And yet the cross roads seem inevitable.

I  like to maintain that for all the effort I put towards securing good grades in school and college, being in some form of employment that earns me a remuneration is very gratifying. That being said, rushing back home to my son every evening fills me with a swelling anticipation. There is nothing that I can compare it with. And certainly, I did not at all expect all this about having a baby.

The wet wipes conversation

A recent conversation with the Scientist:

Me: Oh! The Huggies wet wipes are getting over. You've bought refill packs right?
Scientist: Yes. Eight of them.
Me: Hmm. Roughly how many does one packet contain?
Scientist : 200... (usually, he is always equipped with minute details, like the number of teeth in his comb...err, no, joking.)
Me: So thats 1600 wet wipes. I use about 2 wipes per poop (on Chittu, that is, in case 'I' was misunderstood). So Roughly 800 poops? That means we are covered for the next year atleast (Conclusion arrived at after long complex mathematical calculations involving number of poops in a day, number of days in a month and number of months in a year)
Scientist: We are?
Me: Yep. Sigh.

Post baby-birth, nothing has remained the same. Nothing!