I'll tell you why.
First, these "body after baby" articles always imply that I somehow just don't get it, or am less of a woman or not part of the club because I have not given birth to a child. These articles purport to put women who have given birth and have the chutzpah to shed their clothes and pose for a camera up on a pedestal. Now, I'm not saying they are not brave or awesome women. I'm not saying that in the slightest, and if posing nude post-baby helps them get their sexy back, then that is just fine by me, though I wish they would do it truly for themselves and not make the appearance of their bodies the focal point of an Internet article. Here is why these articles rub me the wrong way: THEY ARE STILL FOCUSING ON THE OUTWARD APPEARANCE OF BODIES OF WOMEN.
They are not focusing on the strength or the amazing things the female body can do. They are simply focusing on the outward appearance. And I hate it. I hate it so hard.
Anyway, I want to share with you about the day I learned to love my body. Because no amount of reading "real women have curves" centric articles, no amount of my husband telling me how he loves my body, no amount of anyone telling me anything could have created the shift inside that happened last Sunday.
Last Sunday. January 19th, 2014. I did a half-marathon in Disneyland.
I am not in excellent shape. I did not train hardly at all. I WAS TERRIFIED.
I signed up for this race with my best friend with the expectation that I would commit to about 9-10 weeks of training in preparation for this day. Didn't happen. I could not get motivated to save my life. There was not anything in me that wanted to train for this race. I can't explain it, I wanted to participate but I just couldn't drag myself to the gym. In retrospect I believe it was the feeling that I was so out of shape and so ill-prepared, I think I thought "why bother?"
So, the night before the race I'm laying in bed and I'm cursing myself for not training and then for reasons unbeknown to me, my nana appeared in my head. Nana has been in a wheelchair for about 20 years. All of the sudden, I'm picturing very vividly my nana in the stands at one of my softball games as a kid, cheering me on. And then, tears. Tears in my eyes. And all I can think is, wow. I'm laying here complaining in my head about being signed up for a half-marathon I didn't train for and what would my nana give to be able to walk even just one mile? And then the wave of gratitude hit me and I began to thank God for giving me legs that work. Strong legs that I often curse as being too big. I claim to believe in a God who formed me in His image, and yet I curse the very body He has given me.
The gratitude did not stop that night. I awoke the next morning excited and with a feeling of peace. I am healthy, I have legs that work, and the rest is all mental. Period. I can absolutely do 13.1 miles.
My bestie and I at the starting line at 5am.
The race began and we wound through Disneyland and California Adventure for about the first six miles. I was feeling great, couldn't stop smiling and loving it. Then the race went out onto the streets of Anaheim. And there weren't as many marching bands and costumed Disney characters cheering us on. Then the eighth mile hit and I was pretty much over the whole thing.
I began to pray. Not for strength or the will to keep moving. I began to pray a prayer of thanks. Thank you, Lord, for legs that work and a heart that beats and lungs that rise and fall. Thank you, Jesus, for the financial means to go on a trip like this with my best friend. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And then tears filled my eyes again as they usually do when I feel heard by the Creator of all things good and right.
As I kept on going through the last three miles, I never ceased thanking God for my body. I crossed the finish line and immediately burst into tears. I don't think I have ever been more proud of a physical accomplishment and it came over me in waves of emotion that I can not describe. It was beautiful. I WAS BEAUTIFUL. Dripping with sweat and bags under my eyes from the 3:30am wake up, I posed for a picture.
Normally I pick apart pictures of myself immediately after they are taken. I wish my arms were thinner, I wish my stomach was flatter, I wish my face were less round. Not this time. I looked at the picture and just saw strength and beauty. And that feeling has not left me.
My body is strong and powerful in ways no picture can do justice. I can run races and climb mountains and bring human life into the world with my body. My body embraces those in times of sorrow and in joy with abounding hugs. This body has rocked babies to sleep and slid into home plate and jumped in lakes and rode down mountains. My body is so much more than a picture, or how it looks. I am strong beyond words and beautiful beyond description.
Something incredible happens when you see yourself as TRULY beautiful and strong, from the inside out. All of the sudden, you want to take care of that body. I kept waiting to lose weight to feel good about myself, and now I realize I had it completely backwards. I needed to feel good about myself first. I needed to know my worth and strength and beauty never were in the numbers on the scale. They weren't in the numbers on the scale when I was 21 and 40 pounds lighter and they aren't in the scale now. My weight has NOTHING to do with my beauty. And the freedom that comes from believing that with every fiber of my being...indescribable. Here's to a healthy life full of adventure and activity, rest and running, broccoli and cake, water and wine. Here is to balance and loving ourselves, from the inside out.
