It may be a good thing that I am tied to the house for most of the day because if I had more time, I may be a little nutso with the working out. I'm talking like every day for hours on end.
I seriously LOVE working out. I love feeling the burn, pushing myself to the limits of what I can do, having complete control of my body instead of my body controlling or limiting me.
I think it is because I feel strong when I'm lifting weights. I feel like if anyone tried to mess with me, I could take them. I feel fast when I run, like I could outrun any danger.
And I hate, hate, hate the fat that still remains on my body.
When I am working out, I can feel my muscles working and my lungs opening up and my whole body feels alive.
Except the fat.
It sits on my hips and my hangs on to the bottom of my arms and my tummy. It is a foreign mass I can't reach; it is unresponsive when the rest of my body is on overdrive. It makes me angry that I can't control it and make it do what I want it to do. I feel it jiggling when I run, an unwanted hitchiker holding on for dear life. It motivates me to move faster and work harder because I know that is the only way to get it off of me.
See? I told you. CRA-ZY. I have lost a lot of weight, but there is still a ways to go for me to be satisfied. I can't wait until Ben graduates, the boys are in school, I quit working, and I have time during the day to do a few things I want to do. I dream of playing outdoor soccer again, or training to kickbox, or even training to become a personal trainer myself -just something competitive, that pushes me, but Ben's schedule is just too unpredictable right now. Some day, maybe, but for now I have to settle for the few times I can make it to the gym a week, and be grateful for the days when my workout doesn't get interrupted my poopy diapers or a inconsolable child. Does that sound selfish?
And P.S. I wasn't this person (much) before I had babies. What is it about post-babies that turned me into such a workout freak?