“Tell me something I don’t know”, I said to my husband of 20 years. He smirked, and said “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I actually like your Mom Bod”. In the moment, I found it kind of sweet. I’m 52, and what used to be a fairly athletic and toned body has given into the expansion of a jelly rolled belly and pasta arms. It’s good to know he still finds me charming, but the reality is that this Mom Bod is a direct result of indulgence in habits that have not served me for a long time. Leaving them behind would change the dynamic of a long standing routine, and I desperately wanted something different.
Our son wants to be a personal trainer. Bodybuilding is one of the few things that really inspires him. I’ve never been a fan of the overly muscular physique, and I don’t understand how bodybuilding could lead to a reliable paycheck. I now have some compassion for how my parents must have felt when I insisted on pursuing a career in the arts. I want him to be happy, and secure, so I’m overtly supportive, and covertly hoping he bends his ambition toward a more lucrative career, like ‘sports medicine’. I also understand that many, if not all, of my fears are based on my own lack of understanding. Regardless, I know that once he learns to respond to his alarm clock, he will succeed at whatever he does.
I leave for a three-week trip to India on October 3rd. It will be an inspiring trip, but not an easy one. I will be packing art supplies and gear for MFFC, and traveling long distances to remote areas. I don’t want to drag my Mom Bod, and the habits that helped create it, along with me. I also have a considerable amount of work to accomplish between now and then, and a clear head and strong resolve will be convenient. I’ve enlisted my 16-year-old personal trainer-to-be, and together we’ve developed “The Mom Project”.
The new blackboard in the kitchen maps out his expectations of me over the next 50 days. I’m doing my muscle-screaming best to oblige. I knew I had some core strength buried beneath that cozy layer of fat, and I believe I’ve found it. It hurts, and tomorrow I think the pain will be ever more present. My backside’s been dating gravity for too long, and my triceps were enjoying their state of non-existence – but no more! We are one week in and I’m feeling…joyous, hopeful, and bit sore. For the remaining 7 weeks Sir Liam will continue to dictate my mornings routine. I exercise. I read. I meditate – briefly. My days will still be filled with work and paint, but my evenings will find more music, more writing, more books, more walks… I’m leaving behind the red wine and the politics. So far, I don’t miss either of them.
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