Another (very motivating) reason for getting fit

Like most Americans, I'm overweight.  In fact, when I first signed up this second go-round with my personal trainer, my body fat percentage was 38%.  For those of you unaware, that ISN'T EVEN ON THE DAMN CHART.  I was beyond "very obese" on the chart.

I didn't feel obese.  I didn't feel fat.  I didn't feel people treating me differently because of my size.  I was only wearing (very tight) size 14 jean.  But I was tired of feeling tired all day trying to chase my oldest son around.  I was tired of trying to hide in my clothes.  I was tired of never wanting to be in pictures.

So I signed up with a personal trainer.  I recommitted to hitting the gym.  It is the only way I get guaranteed me time, especially since my oldest no longer naps.  And I have made great progress so far.  Though I've only lost 9 pounds, those size 14 pants which used to cut into my waist are now too baggy on me.  I had to buy new underwear because the old ones just wouldn't stay up any longer.  Shirts I purchased a year ago are now slovenly-looking because they are too large.

These are great motivating factors- the internal motivation of wanting to keep up with my sons, the external motivation of clothes that make me look better because I'm not busy trying to hide in them.  But then I stumbled across this article on heart health.

It's in the February 2012 issue of Woman's Day.  Under "6 Suprising Risk Factors", number 5 was "You had pregnancy complications."  I did.  I had complications with both.  With my first I had pregnancy-induced hypertension (aka high blood pressure).  With my second, I had the PIH and then I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia.  With both I wound up being induced.  Now, with my first child, I gained only 18 pounds during pregnancy, and with the second, just 14.  Back to the article though.  How much do pregnancy complications raise your risk of heart disease?  100%.  I did a mental spit-take when I read that.  My father's father died of a heart attack.  My father's brother suffered a massive stroke.  Heart disease runs in my family.

Now?  Now it is not just a matter of loving myself and being able to keep up with my boys.  Changing my lifestyle (and by cause/effect the lives of my family unit) is now tantamount to literally prolonging my life.  The stronger my heart is, the better chance I have of surviving heart disease.

I knew that pregnancy diabetes led to diabetes later in life.  I did not realize that the same was true of pregnancy heart-health issues.  Scary?  You bet your ass it is.



Please utilize the following links, courtesy of the February 2012 issue of Woman's Day magazine (pg 104):
hearttruth.gov
Risk Assessment Tool
Track your family history
Record your health stats
Know what you're eating
Disclaimer: I am in no way or by any means a healthcare professional.  If you believe you may be at risk for heart disease, please contact your physician to discuss your concerns and risk factors.  You are responsible for what you do with what you learn via the links I have posted.  I am liable for nothing.

Beginning

This is the beginning.  It is the start of my inane ramblings of things that are important to me, strike me as memorable, or that I am curious about.

To start: I have two kids.  They are 20 months apart.  I suffer from a dirty little thing called post-partum depression.  I say it is dirty because even with all of our advancements, depression still has a terrible stigma.  This blog really addresses that (and the three blogs she links).  I am ashamed to admit that there were times recently when the only reason I got out of bed in the morning is because I am all my two little boys have at the moment.  My wonderful husband is gone for work.  If I didn't get out of bed to care for them, they would have had no one else.

Which was a shameful thought.  What was even more shameful was the fact that though I got out of bed, they didn't really have me.  I was a shell of my real self.  I had to battle through some emotional shit just to haul myself out of bed.  The worst part was not even being able to truly enjoy the cuddles and kisses and hugs they gave me during those days.  I can never get those back.  NEVER.  Those days, those hugs and kisses, are forever gone in the ever-flowing river of time.  And standing at the crest of this little hill, I can look back down on the trough of depression and mourn the time I lost with my boys.  But I can also rejoice a little.  I did not lose too much time down there.  They are still little.  I was lucky to find a way to claw my way up.  I am lucky that they are good and beautiful and loving boys.  And I am lucky that they will not remember this incident.

So I write of this.  I write of this to have a record.  To remember how ashamed I am of the time I lost because I couldn't see myself and my state of mind for what I was.  I write this so I will remember in case my sons one day marry women who may also suffer from post-partum depression.  So I can share with them that it is not their fault.  That they aren't less-than-human.  That I know where they are coming from.  That it is okay to need help and seek help.

And so, tonight, I sit in my metaphorical chair, on top of my metaphorical hill, watching the fireflies flit around with a glass of wine in hand and say, "Life is good."
This is not my photo - I found it here