I am a runner and a racer.  Normally by this time in the season I would have competed in at least five or six races and might have even won a trophy.  I'd be in full-bore training mode--that is if I hadn't had my wonderful son last October.  It has taken some doing, but in the last two weeks I have finally figured out how to carve out some time for myself.  This post is about what happened when I tried to resuscitate the running season that I have tried so hard to start this year. 

After an hour and a half commute to work, I was in the locker room quickly dressing so I could hit the road.  I realized that I had forgotten my running shirt.  Running shirtless meant having to walk through my building amongst the early morning crowd and slapping the sidewalk for a few miles half naked.  It isn't something I like to do, even when it is 70 degrees outside like it was the other morning.  I don't know if it's a modesty thing or what.  On the practical side, a running shirt helps keep me cooler and gives me something to wipe the sweat from my face and out of my eyes.  Looking down at my gym clothes in disgust, I wasn't going to let modesty or practicality impinge on my hard fought efforts to train. 

And so I made my way outside, but with those first few footfall on the sidewalk I began to feel self-conscious.  Once I was out on a path away from everyone I knew it would subside and I could just enjoy the beautiful morning along the Potomac.  With my back towards the rising sun, my shadow appeared on the ground in front of me for the first two miles.  And that shadow didn't look so bad.  It surprised me to see a body slightly toned, with a little muscle and sporting a v-shaped waist.  Sure I was still shirtless and pasty but what was I so concerned about?

There is a certain amount of inactivity that's brought on by fatherhood (I guess chasing the little one around the house doesn't count).  I was definitely out of shape in terms of being ready to race.  Somewhere along the way I had also acquired this body awareness that told me I was lumpy and had something like an inner tube waist.  It had nothing to do with my physical appearance.  I hadn't gotten out of shape so much as I had gotten out of shape in my head. 

This isn't about whether I should or should not feel good about running shirtless.  It's about the internal beating that I accept for letting things go a little since becoming a parent.  It's about what I have done to myself--to the image of me that I carry around everyday.  When we become mothers and fathers and we begin to turn away from ourselves and towards our children, I wonder if we not only neglect ourselves, we also kick ourselves for neglecting ourselves. 

According to the scale, I have gained a total of one pound since Ty came to live with us last year--one pound.  This is one of those, now don't you feel stupid moments.  So if I am suffering from an imagined case of baby weight gain, imagine what some mother's must go through with the real thing.  We do a lot for our children and sacrifice ourselves in the process.  Sometimes you have to find a way to take time for yourself and just go run your ass off.  And maybe if my son is a good boy, I will let him come along for the ride.

--J