I run

I run until my breathing becomes ragged, and I fear my legs will give way beneath me. Then I walk, as quickly as I possibly can, air raw in my throat, making me yawn, making me cough, making my ears hurt. Then, when I think I might possibly someday be able to breathe without gasping again, I start running. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Not the climactic conclusion of a horror movie, but what a stranger would see looking through the tiny windows in my garage door every other night of the week. You see, I have purchased.....a treadmill. I am trying valiantly to finally remove the physical evidence of the Kraken's birth.

In truth, the problem began in the first trimester of pregnancy. Before then, even if I was not always as slender as I hoped to be, I was at least in decent physical shape. I went to the gym 4, 5 times a week, in the mornings, before work. I power walked. I ran. I lifted weights. And then came the overpowering lassitude that comes with early pregnancy. And all I could do was nap. By the time my energy returned with the second trimester, I was big as a house (already) and more interested in eating than doing anything else. And by the third. Well. Imagine a manatee on the stairmaster, and I believe you'll understand why I stayed away. I may have only gained 33 pounds, but I truly did gain most of them in my midsection, and I was tippy under the best of circumstances.

After the Kraken arrived, I could have started exercising again, but really. Have you tried to power walk when you're nursing? At some point it's almost assured that you will start spraying milk like Uma Thurman's opponents spraying blood in Kill Bill, Volume whatever. Plus, who the hell wants to exercise on 1 1/2 hours of sleep? And of course, the Kraken's ear infections ensured that I didn't get enough sleep to want to exercise until she was more than a year old.

Last summer I made a valiant effort to return to my former self. I walked every day at lunchtime at work. I did the diet thing. I lost 25 pounds, and I looked pretty good, all things considered. But then the hot weather arrived in earnest, and that was that. Back inside, and hey, why don't I have some fudge while I'm in here?

I'm 37 years old. I have a limited number of years left to look the way I used to look, and even then I'm going to need a little help (and a really good bra). It's time to make it happen. And so I run. And everything on me hurts. My shins ache. My legs shake when I come back into the house. I drink so much water I am afraid my bladder will burst.

And I feel fricking amazing.