The 20 Pound Difference

For someone who doesn’t weigh myself often, I sure bring up those numbers a lot. I’ve had more doctor appointments than I can count related to this whole TTC business, so I’m acutely aware of my weight and fluctuations right now. And I think as much as I try to heal fully from my disordered past with body image and eating, there will always be an element of trouble there. That’s not some admission of weakness, it’s just truth -- and it’s one that a lot of people experience. I’ve accepted that it's how I deal with my feelings and thoughts related to this issue that's the important difference.

I’ve been sitting at 140 pounds for a while now -- seven months. I had been around 130 in the summer and for a few years after having Ada. Closer to 120-125 before getting pregnant. So, in the last four years, I’ve actually gained 20 pounds overall. Two zero. Weight is just a number, after all, but it is still hard for me to see the scale continue to climb.

At 120, I was definitely thin. Not overly so, like when I was down well below 110 in my worst days of my disorder, but I was definitely working at it . . . hard. I’d eat “clean” one hundred percent of the time. I’d run, do yoga, spinning, walk during work breaks, and basically move my body all day long. My metabolism was young and spritely. I had lots of time on my hands. I had a lot of motivation to work out. Racing was my favorite pastime, and I look back on how I was constantly running (literally and figuratively) and feel absolutely exhausted. Irony? I still never felt great about my body.

I had trouble adjusting to my “new normal” of 130 pounds simply because it was this invisible threshold I had crossed in my head. I remember thinking to myself in my early stages of healing that “as long as I stayed below 130,” I’d be OK with myself -- how awful! In other words, I was healed from the physical damage I did to my body in my teens and early 20s -- the binging, the purging, the skipping meals -- but the psychological was still catching up.


I also had trouble because most of my friends (real life and otherwise) seemed to return to their before-baby weights after not terribly long and without herculean effort. Breastfeeding did wonders for many of my friends and family, and I think it made me retain weight. I PRed at races and was eating better than ever, so it didn’t matter. I stuck with it for 17 months and wouldn’t change a thing.

After a while, I gave up the mission of getting myself “back” and was able to accept love my new mama body. I actually did reach this milestone, and it was an amazing accomplishment for me.

Then the TTC struggles began.


It wasn’t bad the first several months of trying, but after the chemical in September and then weird symptoms ever since, I decided to drastically cut back on working out. Honestly? I also felt quite paralyzed and borderline depressed about my new health problems, which is no secret to anyone including myself. The weight came on rather quickly like I hadn’t experienced before. My pants got tighter, and I even exchanged most for the next size up. But overall? There’s not some gigantic difference in how I look or feel.

It’s just that stupid number on the scale . . .

I’ve come to the conclusion that we all go through stuff in life ranging from major to minor. My last year (more like two) has been one for the record books. And our bodies go along for the ride. They’re often a symptom of what we’re experiencing. All I can do is be good to myself at whatever size I’m sporting on any given day. I’m exercising consistently and eating good foods, and my goal right now has nothing to do with shrinking back into a size 4 or shaving minutes off my half marathon PR. I’ll continue to treat my body -- whatever its size -- the right way. I’ll continue to keep my internal chatter positive and encouraging. It’s the best I can do.

Twenty pounds is nothing stacked up against the weight of all the difficult stuff I’ve made it through these last few years. And I know my size and my perception will continue to change and evolve as the years go on and on. It’s keeping my mind running smoothly and feeding and honoring my body that’s important.

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!

Read more...

Racing Burnout and Marathon Training

We've been racing . . . a lot. I'm starting to feel like Scully (above) -- completely exhausted. At this point, I'm also starting to hate running. I feel like a fall marathon is an impossible goal (at least with the training plan that I set for myself).

By now, I imagine you've gathered that this post won't be inspirational or even positive. I don't mean to rain on the healthy blog parade, but I want to be honest. I, Ashley, am going through a tough time with my running. Racing can be a great way to get in shape. To have fun. To reach goals. But Stephen and I didn't realize how often we were literally on the road until this past weekend. Don't get me wrong, we had a blast at the Boilermaker -- but all these speedy miles are beginning to take their toll.


Season in review:

• March's St. Patrick's 4-miler: 29:58 (PR!)
• March's Forks 15K: 1:13:58
• April's Skunk Cabbage Classic Half Marathon: 1:50:47
• May's Lehigh Valley Half Marathon: 1:46:53
• June's Laurel Festival 10K: 50:15
• June's Lake Placid Half Marathon: 1:46:31 (PR!)
• July's Boilermaker 15K: 1:13:45 (PR!)

I'm proud of my times at all of these races. I'm also incredibly proud of my trend of PR-ing with each successive race. These are amazing accomplishments. They are to be celebrated! But what I'm missing that I've always incorporated into my yearly running routine is rest. A month of light and easy running, twice a year. I usually spent both December and July in this easy phase.

But this year, we picked an earlier fall marathon. Training has already begun (weeks ago, in fact). That month of a mental and physical break just isn't there. And I quite honestly don't know what I want to do. No one is MAKING me run a marathon, so I imagine some of you out there are thinking: "Stop whining, just don't do it! Rest!" I, too, realize I could just throw in the towel.


But I have a goal. I have many goals and motivations, actually. Some of them for running, some of them not. The most directly related is my goal to run a sub-4:00 marathon. I was trained and ready to at Philly last year, but injury slowed me in the final miles. No one can predict how a race will go entirely, but by plugging my recent race times into this handy calculator (which is frighteningly accurate), I could be looking -- best case scenario -- at running a 3:40 this year!

That's a Boston-qualifying time for me! I feel like I need to at least try. If I fail miserably, so be it. But if my potential is there this year, who knows if I'll still be on my game next year. Life situations are always changing. Injuries. Work obligations. You-name-it. I want to try.


But then there's the burnout. What to do? Right now, my primary goal is to try loving running again. I can't continue marathon training with such negative attitude toward my workouts. I know I really love running. Instead of push myself with more miles, I'd like to focus on quality over quantity. I'm officially stepping down to Hal Higdon's Intermediate I plan (I was attempting to do a modified Intermediate II with a more aggressive long run schedule). If that doesn't work, I may even step down to the Novice II plan, which means only 4 days of running and a day for cross-training.

I followed the Intermediate I plan for the Philly Marathon last year. It worked well for me then, so I feel it will help me cross the finish line yet again this year. And I actually find the Novice II plan quite attractive because it could help me focus on making my workouts mean more (again, the quality over quantity thing) . . . and allow me to gain strength in other ways (thought biking and swimming, most likely).


Basically, I'm trying to re-examine my training. There are many ways to get to the finish. Maybe in this case, less is more.

I wrote this post because I'd love your suggestions on how I can break out of this bad patch. What do you do when you're feeling like your next run might make you have a nervous breakdown? Just leave a comment or email us at neverhomemaker [at] gmail [dot] com. I like to look at photos from after my races. Try to remember how that feeling of accomplishment melts away my sorrows. So, I'm thinking of making a photo album of these moments (like a REAL one, printing photos for once). Something I can take out and look at before a run. We'll see if that helps! And thanks for reading!

Like what you just read? You can subscribe to the feed of these posts or follow us on Twitter or Facebook to be the first to know what the (never home)makers are up to. And we’ll love you forever!!

Read more...