I'm giving in to fall. I am still not over summer being over. A typical Portland summer doesn't really start until late July, and lasts until mid-October. This year we got all our heat in May and June--very unusual--had a slightly warmer July, and then a cool August and crappy rainy September. I want a refund. It didn't help that I didn't get enough of my requested vacation time off to actually go on vacation this summer. But, it's been raining for a while, and thoughts are turning to tea and quilting and cozying up. The fireplace is on. It's not so bad. But I do still hope for some sunny fall days before the winter gray settles in.
Last Saturday I went to my usual trainer appointment at the gym, but my trainer did not show up. This was unusual for him to just not be there or respond to my text. I did my workout and went home, and later texted him to see what was up. Turns out that the gym fired him, and didn't notify me. He said he was late and the new manager just fired him, like that. Now, of course, I don't know how much more of the story there is. All I do know is that my dealings with him were very professional and he was a fantastic trainer. I've written all about what a great trainer he is before. Not only am I pissed that I lost my trainer, but I'm pissed that the gym didn't bother to tell me. So I am supposed to be hearing from the manager on Sunday. It's a hard situation. I have 3 or 4 sessions left that I paid for, but I don't want to work with a new trainer. I want my trainer. I don't really even want to go to that gym anymore, but it is about 1/10 of a mile from my house, so it really eliminates a lot of excuses. And it's a nice gym, and affordable. I'm just pissed about this situation. It feels like from what I know of the guy, it cannot be a justified firing, but again, who knows. He is going to tell me what gym he ends up at, but the odds that it will be a practical fit for me are low.
So this left me in this week-long funk about working out, which goes well with my weeks-long funk about my plateau. I finally ran today after about 4 days of no workouts. I just didn't have the heart for it, frankly. It did feel good to run. I'm sure I will get back to the gym. But the weight funk persists. I have finally lost a couple pounds again, but they are pounds I've lost before. Food journaling at this point is useless for me, because I have tried everything I can think of: anywhere between 60-120g protein per day, 800-1500 kcal per day, more water, more fiber, more carbs, less carbs. Seriously. I average 1000 cal when I don't journal (that is, when I have just eaten and added it all up at the end of the day). My body is just not gonna budge right now. So, fine. Body, do your thing. I guess as long as I'm not gaining and I'm still doing the right things, it's going to have to be okay. I have an appointment with the surgeon in about a month, maybe we can come up with something.
Lucy's birthday is tomorrow--she will be 3. It's really amazing how quickly the time goes by. At this very time 3 years ago, I was only a few hours into my home labor, and unbeknownst to me, just 2 hours from suddenly needing to race to the hospital before she appeared. I had a fast labor, especially for a first-time mom, and a pretty precipitous delivery. It sounds a bit foolish that I was still at home when I was ready to deliver (and no, I didn't plan a home birth) but everyone tells you over and over that the first labor takes much longer than you think it will, you should stay home as long as possible if you don't want "interventions", etc. I never intended to wait until the last second. I had exactly one contraction that felt like what was described as "transition" (from 7 cm to 10 cm dilation) and decided to get some clothes on to go to the hospital, because I was wearing a night shirt. I went upstairs to get clothes on, and by the time I got up there I was having very hard, very fast contractions and could no longer walk. By the time my doula helped me down all my stairs (I had to crawl down them because I couldn't stand up), half an hour had elapsed and it was time to deliver, which I knew because my body started pushing and I had to try not to push, with the help of my fabulous doula. I still had to get myself into the car, though, which was very hard. We did make it to the hospital--with my hubby driving and my doula coaching me on not pushing--and Lucy was born 15 minutes later. It all went perfectly, in retrospect, but we did cause quite a fuss when we got there, and the whole hospital knew about it by morning.
My mother did the same kind of reminiscing every year on each of our birthdays (yours probably did too), and I didn't quite understand why as a kid, or even really as an adult. But childbirth does change you forever; you become a different person, and I'm sure with each subsequent pregnancy and delivery you change yet again. The first time reveals to you what you are capable of, and it doesn't matter what kind of birth you had or what you did or did not do--it's yours, in the end. The birth of my daughter definitely did change me forever and let me know what I could do physically and emotionally. It has served as a reservoir of strength for me since then. And of course, all of the changes that have come with becoming Lucy's mother have revealed much more to me. It's been so fun getting to know the person she is and is becoming.