Strength

I went to my first postpartum body sculpting class today. My step was on the lowest setting, I had the lightest weights and body bar, and the smallest weight ball. The class still tore me up, worked me over, and left me whimpering like a little girl.

I am not without vanity. I will never be so evolved or progressed in my self esteem and self worth as to be completely comfortable in my own skin. I have come leaps and bounds from where I was five years ago. I've come so far from where I was as a teenager that my teenage self might not believe we are the same person. So it is with total honesty that I say, I could care less about the last pregnancy pounds I need to lose.

What I care about is my strength. I want to be able to lift my kids up over my head without my arms or back giving out. I want to be able to chase my kids around the house without my legs screaming and my lungs heaving. When I laugh at my husband's jokes I want to feel my muscles tighten instead of my belly shake.

I have no guarantee of growing old gracefully. I often joke about my faulty genetics (that I happily passed on to my kids). I have a strong family history of cancer, diabetes, auto-immune disease, and about ten other things that I have to check off on the doctor's "Family history of..." list. But even more important than that, there is no guarantee for tomorrow.

So while my body still works, I will love it best I can. I will do what I can to make it strong. I will embrace being healthy. I will not be embarrassed that the grannies can step twice as high and lift twice as much. Instead I will look to them as inspiration on how to grow old gracefully.
Want to meet me at the gym tomorrow? I just need a nap first...