You know the one- the 6 weeks post-birth gynecological check up. The appointment where you go and gush to the doctor about how wonderful your baby is: yes- he’s a good eater, yes- the other kids love him, yes- this is the first time I’ve left the house without him, and yes- I am finding time to take care of me. After you are done telling these lies, the time comes for the doctor to dive in and assess the damage done to your lady bits. “Boy, those stitches sure healed nicely.” (I’m sorry, I don’t care who you are, the mere mention of ‘those stitches’ should make you cringe and cross your legs)! The next statement out of the doctor’s mouth will cause either joy, dread, or total panic (probably a little of all three). You know it’s coming and you hold your breath in anticipation. And then the doctor spits it out…”You may resume all normal sexual activity”. There it is. You are healed. You are good. All back to normal. As if nothing at all happened.
You get dressed, drive thru Dunkin and take the scenic way home to prolong your alone time just a bit longer. You walk in the door to,excited screams of “Mommy”!! Hugs, smiles, and kisses for all. And then, for the second time that day, you hold your breath in anticipation of what you know is coming next. Your significant other smiles sheepishly and says, “Well, what did the doctor say”? Translation-“Have you been cleared? All systems go? Ready to come back to the rodeo? For the love of God please say yes! I’m dying over here”! Many things run through your mind- Am I ready for this? I know I’ve done it before, but can I do it again? And if I do, will it be the same? I know I certainly don’t look the same. What if it hurts? Oh jeez, how do I answer? I have been okay without it for awhile now, and I really am just so tired. Do I lie and say “No, they said never. It’s never going to happen again”? Do I buy myself a few more weeks? A few more months? But you look at his poor pathetic eyes and the truth wins out. You answer, with a strained smile, “I’m good to go”!
My youngest child is 8 so it was quite a surprise when this scenario played out again in my life just this week. How, you ask? Well it did -with just a few substitutions. It went down like this. Instead of having a baby, I had an injury. And instead of a gynecologist, I had a bunch of other kinds of doctors. And instead of a husband, I had a workout buddy. And instead of the boudoir, I had the gym.
While I have been running, swimming, and doing some other working out lately, I haven’t lifted for close to 6 weeks now. Then, Mama K sends me the equivalent of the “U up?” text. She wants to know if I want to join her for a lift. Like in weights. Like a hard care workout. Many things ran through my mind when I read the text- Am I ready for this…see the paragraph above and read until you hit the part that says, “I’m good to go”! Because that is exactly what went through my mind- every word of it. But I committed to giving it a good ol’ college try and our rendezvous was set for Friday morning.
We entered the gym. I was nervous, but not. It was familiar, but it wasn’t. I was comfortable and uncomfortable all at the same time. We didn’t jump right in, thank goodness, and did a little warming up on the treadmill. (A little foreplay is always good, right?) I can do this, it feels good, I think I remember how. Then it was time for the main event. Oh crap! Here we go!
I found a bar and added very tiny weights. We set the timer and started. My muscle memory kicks in. Like riding a bike. I hoisted and squatted, cleaned and jerked my way through the workout. And when it was all over I thought, well, that was not good. But much like those first time post partum experiences, even when it’s not too good, it certainly is never bad!
If it’s been awhile since you’ve run, swam, lifted, walked, or did anything to celebrate your beautiful body- be not afraid! Get out and enjoy yourself this weekend. Even if it feels kinda bad, it will be so good. I promise! Be happy.
P.S. Mama K had a clean and jerk PR this morning of 90 lbs! Like what?!? Way to go el jefe!