Fifteen Pounds Heavier, Twenty Times Happier: A Struggle with Weight and Running

Fifteen Pounds Heavier

I have not lost any of the weight I gained when pregnant with Jonah, unless you can count the three pounds I lost when I birthed him.  (Twice.  I'll save that story for another day.  I'm still not ready to write about that life-altering experience.)  Fortunately, I have lost the five pounds I gained from taste testing all the cookies I baked at Christmas. (Ok, who am I kidding?  I didn't just taste test but ate dozens at a time.  Sugar cookies.  No bakes.  Chocolate krinkles.  Almond raspberry shortbreads.  Oh gosh, I'm making myself hungry.)  Although, I do love how people just assume the weight falls right off because I'm nursing.  It might have fallen off for other nursing moms, but that's just not how it's happening for me.  I can thank my wonderful thyroid for that (and those darn cookies, and chocolate, and my complete lack of self-control). 

After I had Alina, the weight came off relatively easy.  Then again, I was twenty-one and working a job that consisted of constant motion.  Losing the weight after Noah was more challenging.  It took longer to lose Noah's baby weight, even though I was trying so much harder.  I blame it on the fact that I was twenty-six, and he was baby number two.  I started running only two weeks after I had him (which, considering he fell out, was not really that big of a deal.  With Alina, I started after seven months), mainly due to the fact that I was coming off a 2:57 first marathon performance that had me believing that the trials might be in my distant future (what was I thinking?). I also signed up for and was determined to win my school's Biggest Loser competition. The competition turned out to be awesome and awful.  Since I am crazy competitive I, of course, had to win, so I signed up on http://www.mydailyplate.com/ to track my calories to ensure I would lose all twenty five pounds of baby weight in eight weeks.  Oh yes, it was joyful living on fish and broccoli every night, and those twelve hundred calories I consumed left me feeling totally satiated. Yeah, right!  I thought my husband was going to divorce me.  Especially after I fasted the final two days of the competition (it was head to head). I subsisted on coffee for two entire days. I was a total witch, and I was ready to eat him. It has now been almost five months since Jonah's birth, and as I said, I have lost nothing.  Zero. Zilch. Nada. Zip.  Why is this?  Oddly, I think it is because I am quite simply, happy.

Twenty Times Happier
That is not to say that I was not happy before.  My definition of happiness has just changed.  I will not say that it has evolved, although to an extent I think it has.  I am no longer focused solely on the goal of losing weight and getting back into shape as quickly as possible. After Noah, I was so focused on losing weight that I did not fully enjoy being a mother.  My happiness was determined by how much I weighed and how fast I could run (oddly, this has been the major theme of my life starting in adolescence).

I have been running competitively since I was twelve.  As a seventh grader I ran on the varsity indoor and outdoor track teams and competed at two state meets (in indoor on a relay and in outdoor in the 800m).  The success I experienced early on (too early in my estimation) created in me a desire to always be the best runner that I could possibly be. In the beginning this just meant I needed to run.  I was pretty successful doing that - just running; however, as I grew older, it changed from not only just needing to run but also needing to watch my weight.   I can remember overhearing a conversation two coaches were having about me after I ran a 1500 in indoor track my sophomore year.  I thought I had a pretty good race, as I was coming off a knee injury that occurred during the cross country season.  Apparently, it was less than stellar in these two coaches' minds.  Anyway, I was bent over trying to catch my breath, and idiot coach #1 asked idiot coach #2 right in front of me (FYI - these idiots are still coaching):  "What happened to Hollie?  That was slow!"  Idiot coach #2 replied: "I don't know.  She looks heavier."  Idiot coach number one responded:  "She better lose that weight if she expects to make it to states."

Not good to hear when you are an impressionable teenage girl.  Later on during the meet, I went over and discussed what I had overheard to my coach (looking for some positive reinforcement that I indeed was not heavy, overweight, slow, etc).  The response I received: one pound of weight equals three seconds slower in a mile. Great! Totally not what I wanted to hear. This has been embedded in my mind ever since.  Lucky me! 

So, now basically what it boils down to: when I run, I stress about weight. Running and weight go hand in hand.  They're BFF's.  Where one goes the other is quick to follow.  They are soul mates.   So why did I base my happiness on these two love birds?  I wish I knew the answer. I have never been super thin, nor will I ever be super thin.  The joke between Andy and me was that when I stepped on the line, by looking at me, no one expected me to win.  I was the big girl (in comparison to so many other runners) on the line who was hopefully going to kick some serious skinny butt.   I expended so much time and energy thinking about my weight and being upset with my running performances (a truly obscene amount of time).  If I ran fast, I imagined how much faster I could run if only I was a few pounds lighter. 

Free At Last

Now, though, I finally feel free.  (Imagine clouds parting, sun shining down, birds chirping - that kind of free.)  I can thank little J for that; his birth and subsequent stay in the hospital truly transformed me.  I cannot explain how; I cannot explain why.  All I know is that I went from being this hard-core cynic of myself to being happy.  Don't get me wrong.  Of course, I still want to lose the baby weight.  But for once, it doesn't have to be right now.  I don't have to deprive myself of the things I love.  Anyone that knows me knows I love cooking and baking (and eating, too).  I am as passionate about those as I am about running (not a great predicament when you're trying to lose weight to run fast). I also know that I will eventually start running again (when the sun is out and it's not freezing).  Will I race?  I don't see that happening anytime soon.  I miss running.  I do not miss weighing myself every morning to see if I have lost a pound because I have a race coming up and that one pound means I will be three seconds faster per mile.  What I do know is that when I do start running again, I'm leaving the watch at home.  And, I'm throwing the scale in the trash.