Let’s talk some serious business today. Very serious. My new fitness goals. My current obsession. My new thang. My joie de vivre.
Like you care about it. HA!
Still, I shall trudge on and bore you for a few mins.
Or maybe you are utterly bored anyway, and that is why you are here. Either way.
If you were not aware, I am a small person. Have always been. 5 feet 2 and something inches, possibly 159 cm or 160cm. Always weighed under 50kg except three times in my life. 45 to 48 kg being the norm. Lowest point was during my first pregnancy, when I was diagnosed with hyperemesis and literally vomited my insides out. I was a tad under 42 kg then. Seriously.
I have run practically all my life. Was in the school long distance team, and the relay teams. Got into marathon training and shit at 16. Ran mostly half marathons and ONE SINGLE marathon by age 23. Ran every single 10K that was ‘runnable’ then at Bangalore, with very good times too. I liked the 10k, it did not bore me to death like the half and full marathons, and also I recovered quick (almost no recovery time needed) and did not need any super intensive prep or training.
I also danced, secretly. Did some choreography for and competed in college and school competitions. At one point, during my undergrad days, I took weekly thrice aerobic classes at an apartment complex (for some ‘pocket cash’) which was mostly attended by grossly unfit, moderately pudgy, super busy homemakers some of whom were constantly asking me to change my class hours because it clashed with the airing of their favourite ‘serial’.
Occasionally I dabbled in weight/ strength training because my running coach kept whining that I have a horrendously weak upper body. Later on, I tried it because I realised I needed a bit more strength (though I still believe surgical technique is more important) to compete with the guys in my program, surgically.
I have accumulated hundreds of miles and about half a dozen or so injuries in the past twenty years. Most pertain to my wonky knees, aggravated by my sometimes poor form. By the time I started paying attention to my form, I had already done decent damage to my poor joint. I also had/ have ITBS aka iliotibial band syndrome. We’l talk about it another day. For today all I want you folks to know about it is that IT IS ANNOYING AS HELL.
By the time I hit the big 3 0, I was bored and tired of running. I could not do the long distances and the fun challenging stuff with my creaky knees so what was the point anyway. I did not want to be that sissy runner in fancy gear who did a 10 minute half- arsed jog and called it a workout. I wanted the blisters and the chafing and mind- numbing boredom of the hour and half runs.
I slowly started losing my running joy. I got into HIIT for a bit, especially during my surgical trainee days at a small village town in South India. It was fun, and I could baby my knees. Abs became my obsession.
The HIIT, coupled with my crazy hours at the hospital made me startlingly lean. Weight wise, I was still hovering around my average weight mark, but I looked skinny, thanks to the predominant loss of fat and a little bit of muscle build up. I was a stick figure, with a gaunt face and hollowed eyes. I was also living away from home, and ate rubbish because that is all I could afford time wise. But I felt super- fit and energetic. Almost achieved the wash- board abs (which looks crappy in drapy Indian clothes let me tell you) and my cardiovascular system was in good shape. I also, still went on weekly long runs, just for old times’ sake.
Then, I had two children. With the first, I was at peak fitness when I found out I was pregnant. I had hyperemesis gravidarum like I mentioned, and so was confined to a dark, odourless, soundless, person-less room for almost five months. I wanted to sink into the earth and perish, cease to exist at that time, so forgive me for not making exercise a priority.
I got my arse back on the track (literally), at about 7 months pregnant, when I started to feel human again. Albeit a waddling, gassy, belchy, motion- challenged human.
We walked, for long. Everyday. Almost jogged. Walked so long, that the husband needed to take breaks while I huffed and puffed along.
Baby Z arrived, and the little baby weight that I managed to accumulate (which was nothing to write home about) melted away in a matter of weeks. Don’t get my wrong, I am not talking about fitness, only the number on the scale. People (you know, the “aunties”) congratulated me on my swift ‘return to shape’ and asked what the secret was. I smiled and bull- shitted. But I knew the truth.
The second time, things were different. Without even trying, I put on weight steadily as the pregnancy progressed. I again had a very ‘puky’ first four months. But later on, I ate like a horse or whatever other animal eats a lot for it’s weight.
I filled out. And surprise, I liked the slightly filled out person that I saw in the mirror. I never knew such a person existed. Subcutaneous fat did wonders to my face. Bloody hell, maybe I should have considered fillers long ago!
The Husband has been trying to tell me this for almost a decade now. That some “pudge” would help my gaunt appearance. Maybe he was right, after all. Damn you man!
So now, at almost four months post- partum; I have embraced my new found curves and plan on keeping them. I am seriously enjoying working out again. Lifting is my new jam. A month in, I can already sense a huge difference. I am 6 kgs away from my usual average, but I feel great. My jeans size may be different, but my endurance is returning. A different sort of endurance.
I do almost no cardio now. At least, no intentional cardio. Except the ten or fifteen minute warm up that I do. Occasionally, I run to relieve soreness. It sounds weird I know, but it really does work for me. After a hard day of leg work, when I can barely manage to sit/ walk, a half an hour run the next day seems to pump out all the lactate.
So yeah, that is my fitness journey in short. Thus far.
This is a new and exciting beginning folks, let us see where this leads..
Till next time.
P.S. By lifting I don’t mean monkeying about with 1 kg dumbbells like this.
I mean this.