FFG poses in a lame ass way on May 16. This is my “before” photo, taken nearly 4 months after my caesarean operation. Watch for monthly update pics as I get back into shape.
Feminist Figure Girl: Well Hissy Fit, complaining about motherhood is absolutely forbidden, especially to those who have healthy, happy infants. So are you ready to break a social taboo and piss off a lot of people?
Hissy Fit: Bring it.
Everyone told me that having a baby would change my priorities. That turned out to be somewhat true. Yes, my son is of primary concern, but he has shuffled rather than replaced other interests. Now that my time is tighter than ever—I have always multi-tasked and had too much to do—I have begun noticing which activities remain important in my life, and which ones have been discarded with the excuse that I am “too busy.” You will not be surprised to learn that fitness remains near the top of my list. Yet I was surprised by some of my choices. Below is an accurate list of things that are important to me, and things that no longer make the grade. This confession is based on my actions rather than on any idealized vision of myself. After all, I think that hopes and dreams count for shit. You are what you do and have done, not what you say you are or what you plan to do in the future.
It’s all my fault.
It’s hard not to get upset when you start back at the gym after a prolonged period away. I was off for two full months while recovering from a caesarean section, forbidden by my doctor from lifting anything over ten pounds. I was inclined to follow his advice after reading online descriptions of post-partum women who had ripped their stomachs open by training too soon after surgery. Although I had worked out seriously until I was 8 months pregnant, and then in a somewhat lame-ass way until two days before giving birth, I was shocked by how quickly my fitness level declined. Previously I had done shitloads of full chin-ups, but now I am back on the assisted pull-up machine, managing five sets of five slowly with 50 pounds of weight counterbalancing me. And as for full push-ups? Forget it. I have returned to my knees. How the mighty have fallen. It is truly humiliating.
View of Ezio Faraone Park, aka best bootcamp site in Edmonton
At 37 years old, I have the most body fat I’ve ever had in my life. Except, possibly, for when I was in my mid-20s. At that point, my teenage metabolism had all but stopped and the weight was creeping on faster than a basement flood in spring.
Back pain with that? Don’t mind if I do!
“Why do I do this to myself?” I ask, not for the first time, as I attempt to stand in tree pose. It’s not that I find hot yoga hard, but that I find it boring. Or rather, boring AND hard. Continue reading
Feminist Figure Girl's Blog 