Last weekend was hot and sunny, conditions that always kick my ass. In an effort to be comfortable, I put on shorts and a sports bra before taking off on an easy 10-miler. I looked in the mirror and negative thoughts started as soon as I laid eyes on my stomach.
“You can’t go out in public like that.”
“There’s no definition!”
“Eww. Too puffy.”
“Not tan enough.”
After the high of a marathon fades, it’s normal to expend less energy. When that happens, even the most meticulous eater puts on a few pounds. It’s normal, and even healthy. *gasp*
My amazing friend Jenn posted that morning on Instagram, and after reading her caption, I decided to hell with it. I was going to run in my sports bra, post-marathon stomach and all.
Through training, I was running like a maniac, nailing my paces and averaging around 60 miles a week. I weighed myself every other day, but not for the normal reason. I monitored my weight closely to make sure I wasn’t losing too much weight. When the number dipped too low, I jacked up my calories, again and again.
Seeing muscle definition and sliding on your skinny jeans to have them fit perfectly is an addicting feeling. It’s a confidence booster and physical confirmation of how hard you’re training.
Now that my race is a month behind me, I’ve found I’m up about 3-4 pounds over race weight. I hate to say it, but it causes major anxiety. My spirit is not healed from the physical and emotionally exhausting race that was Boston, but yet, I found myself running 54 miles last week. I’d like to say it was because I love the run (and I do), but it was more because I love my abs.
This week, I’ve intentionally ran and even moved less in general. It’s Friday and I only have 15 miles under my belt. I’ll run this weekend, but I’m not going to stress about any numbers – my mileage, or the scale.
For today, I choose to appreciate how hard my body works, and try not to freak out about a silly number on a scale.