What's frustrating is the lack of progress. Maybe I'm not really supposed to be progressing as far as losing weight goes. I'm certainly not trying to do that. But it's a very strange feeling to work out, but still have to watch the numbers on the scale make that slow, ugly climb. I know this is different. I do. It's just so hard to accept. I had finally started to realize some goals with my health and appearance. I got down to the size I wanted to be, I was able to wear a bikini with no shame for the first time in years, I was even starting to see some real muscle definition in my arms and abs - two places I never thought it would happen. To top off all the outward stuff, I was even in the best health, internally, that I've been in years. Hopefully, that's still the case. Trying to reconcile all of that with my expanding waist is just turning out to be more of a struggle than I originally thought.
At the gym, I'm walking instead of running. I tried running a couple of times, and although I'm told it's fine, it just didn't feel fine. It sent me into a panic and I had to slow down to a normal, non-jarring speed that wouldn't break the baby's neck. (Have I mentioned I'm a worrier?). I'm also still doing weights, and I'm not having to make any changes there except to not work out my abs. But WOW...there is a new level of pain I experience the next day that reminds me very much of the day after being in a car wreck. And stretching? That has turned into kind of a little eight-minute joke that I play on myself before hopping on the treadmill for my leisurely stroll. Every day, it gets harder to touch my toes, my body feels more stiff each time. Doing the stretches I'm even allowed to do at this point is making me feel...well...old.
Like I said, I know this is all ok. I know that touching my toes, and doing crunches until I'm sick and running 5 miles are things that are just going to have to wait. Maybe I just miss them though. Those things had all become something I looked forward to every day, and I wasn't ever really given the chance to say goodbye. Well, it's not goodbye. It's "see you later." And when my body belongs to me again, I'll be bringing a new friend into the relationship. A jogging stroller. With a baby in it, of course.