First warrior, second warrior, triangle pose. Downward facing dog to plank (plank???) to upward dog, then downward facing dog again to child pose. Breathe oh-so carefully, feeling my right shoulder spasm in protest.
Yes, I was at the gym. After years of being the official family couch potato, a mere two months before a positive pregnancy test, I had joined a gym. Yes, I was seduced by the women-only atmosphere, the whirlpool (mmm), the in-house masseuse. But I stayed for the sweat.
Going to the gym while pregnant was the ultimate in ego massage: for doing a rather easy workout (30 minutes on an elliptical, 10-20 on a bike) I would humbly accept admiring comments from the staff and other members. Going post-baby, however, was infinitely lower on the good vibrations scale - now I was merely one more woman with a nice, healthy tire slung around my somewhat saggy middle.
So why do I go? Admittedly, I don't go to get thin. Getting thin would mean giving up the pleasures of food, of Barbra Streisand's "perfect bite," and that I stubbornly refuse to do, even as my menu options recede, thanks to my offspring. (sigh) But the feeling of the strong, capable body is one I learned to love while pregnant, and that I am loathe to set aside. Thus, of course, the post-workout soy Aztec hot cocoa at Cafe Zing. (zing, indeed! Fabulous stuff. Who knew chilis and chocolate were so good together?)
And so I go off to the gym, two, three times a week. And I wish, surprising myself, for a fourth gym-time. I like the focus and determination of my workout, the solitary splendor (sort of) of the shower afterwards. And no, the numbers on the scale haven't changed much this month, but I find myself rather comfortable with that. After all, with this second pregancy I had a very clear lesson in where my influence ends and my body's begins. With my first child, I put my feet up and ate cheesecake. The gain? 52 pounds. With my second son, I bought a pair of sneakers and hit the gym three times a week, eschewing cheesecake. The result of virtue? 52 pounds. Ya can't beat mama nature, even with a good treadmill. But you can work with and learn to love the results - so long as your only point of comparison is yourself.