Tee Times!

Today I was teaching our sixth session of boot camp marveling at how much improvement I see in the campers’ form, strength, and stamina. I was impressed with their dedication and struck with how special it was that each day we add another child to the camp. After all, we workout on a playground; therefore it is very fitting that we are joined by children.  On Tuesday we had four babies in attendance and today we had three. I think it is organic that women can come workout and bring their children with them fusing two of the most important elements of their life together for one hour.

As we were doing our stretching and cool down I was offering some advice on diet and suggesting some cardio for the weekend (okay by some I mean  30-45 minutes of walking, jogging, running or a combo) and I found myself telling the campers that they deserve to exercise. That despite having children, houses, jobs in addition to the obligatory birthday parties, trips to Target and  family dinners, they actually deserved time to themselves to exercise. I reminded them that their husbands were sure to schedule in their tee times over the weekend and that as women we need to be more assertive in carving out our time to exercise. It brought me back to when I had my second son, only 16 months after my first, and I was sitting in my family room in cold gray February in Atlanta staring at two babies wondering how the hell they had gotten there.  I felt claustrophobic, scared and was in shock. I was 35 pounds overweight (I had gained 55 in pregnancy) and donning some baggy Juicy velour pants and Ugg slippers feeling as if I was wading through life underwater. I was foggy from the second delivery; I was overweight and I was overwhelmed. Although my husband was a good father and loved his sons he was typically overworked, over golfed and not very understanding of what my job entailed. He liked to “babysit” (aka care for his children) occasionally but more under the “enter stage left, exit stage right” guise. It was obvious that on weekends I was going to have to fend for myself.

I poured a glass of wine one night (yes, I was going to pump and dump after all it wasn’t baby number three yet and I was still by the book) and I went on line and ordered the biggest, baddest, toughest, coolest jogging stroller on the market. It arrived a few days and $500 later and the bright red fabric was symbolic as I was about to break out of my torpor. I tricked it out with a fuzzy sleep sac that I could zip my new baby into and loaded up a snack trap with some sugary carbs (hey, my son had years before his weight would be an issue and I was trying to lose some of my own) and stuck my headphones in my ears. I had loaded up my iPod with some good Hip Hop and the battery life read full. I was off. I ran that day for thirty minutes pushing two babies, one weighing in at 16 pounds, the other at 30 plus the 26 pound stroller frame and somehow made it up some of Atlanta’s hellacious hills. When I arrived back home I was out of breath; I was flushed but I was euphoric because I had broken free. I was out of my rut.

I ran every other day thereafter and peppered in two days a week with a personal trainer. I started to feel good again. It wasn’t about shedding the sloppy Juicy pants or shedding the padding that covered me like a Snuggie; it was about freedom. I was free to walk out the door and exercise while caring for my children. During those runs I felt complete. I had my two children with me and could literally look down to determine they were okay and I was exercising.  It was nirvana. As the running bug began to bite I started negotiating on weekends for time to exercise without the children. I won’t reveal all of what I bartered for time alone to run; however I will say that I stood my ground and could usually score an hour at least once a weekend if not twice. Usually it coincided with a football game that my husband wanted to watch on TV and it took me 30 minutes to fill bottles, write down notes on how to care for the children and point him towards the diapers and wipes. (he lived in the house yet he had no idea where we kept masking tape or diapers).

I began scheduling my week around my workouts and the children’s routine including naps and feedings. I kept up my bargaining with their father for time to go running alone on weekends. I started using my gym’s nursery which I had feared like the plague with one baby, but realized that you cannot live in a vacuum and any germs my sons caught in that nursery would help build immunity not kill them.  Mama wanted to be skinny! Is that a crime?

Today as we stretched I told the campers that they should plan their weekends now as not to lose momentum. Start thinking about when you can get out to run or walk and to prevail upon family or husbands to care for children if need be. I told them they deserve to exercise. They deserve to feel good. When a woman feels good she can be a better mother. Children are intuitive. They pick up on undercurrents. If you are tired, depressed or feel badly about themselves children know it. So when I look around at all the babies who accompany their mothers to our camp I smile because I have been there and it is wonderful to see women prioritize time to exercise and do so with their children.

Remember, there are tee times being set all over the town today for this weekend; go ahead and reserve yours! Line up your childcare, lace up your shoes, kiss your baby, and walk out the door-do not look back. You are free!