Or: Trying to Tie Together Two Seemingly Different Topics with One Ambiguous Post Title
Ever since I got the clearance from the Dr. to run, I've been trying to get my old body back. No, not the REALLY old, rather large one. The post-college, professional, healthy, (sorta) clean-living one. The one that's run two marathons, taught millions of fitness classes, twisted itself into yoga-inspired pretzels.
It's gonna be a long road. That 20's metabolism has gone kerflooey, making it much harder to whip myself back into shape. Throw in a healthy dose of sobbing, sporadic eating, and nightly red wine and a fitness plan is right out the window.
That's not to say I've not been trying. Actually, I'm NOT trying. It's sheer survival instinct that puts one foot in front of the other. Fear of my brain exploding out my ears really puts a spring in my running step. Plainly: if I don't exercise my body, my brain will take over and right now, that's not a great game plan.
Running, yoga; these have for so long been a part of my life, I no longer have to think about HOW to do them. Sure, it's advisable to be mindful during yoga practice. But for now? I can let my body remember where to go, how to move so I can turn my brain right off. Or let it wander. I try to stay away from the complete sadness, and try to focus on the happier aspects of being pregnant with Calla. I've got a solid 8 months on which to focus--8 months minus one day. My body, the muscles, take over the thinking during practice. It's quite freeing.
Same thing with running. I couldn't wait to get out of the house to run, but was nervous about how crappy I knew I'd feel. Amazingly? My body simply took over. Just go, it says. Pace be damned, I can just go, and blissfully feel something other than the physical ache of my empty arms. It's like therapy without the talking.
So what about this reminder thingy? On a complete non-sequitur, many people have expressed their sadness and condolences, but have not wanted to make me upset. Their kindness is genuine and sincere, and it touches my heart. But how can I say, without sounding like a complete jerk, that by saying they're sorry, it's not reminding me? Because I am ALWAYS. THINKING. ABOUT. MY. DEAD. BABY. And it actually--perversely?--gives me comfort to know others are thinking of her, too. As they say, you're only truly gone if you are forgotten.
And, son of a gun, I just won't ever forget.