My Secret to Thin

Today at work, a colleague asked me what my secret to staying thin was.

Well, here it comes:

THERE IS NO SECRET.

It's called hard work and eating well, and it's been around for centuries. That, and I'm naturally petite. But mostly, it's hard work. It's spending a little more at the grocery store because I buy fresh vegetables and fruit. It's dragging my tired ass outside in 30 degree heat to walk/jog with F and the dog. It's squats and lunges and push ups and tricep dips on the counter and moving as much as I can every day. 

I sit in an office from 7:30 am until 4:30 pm almost every day, sometimes later. I don't have a gym membership. I have two sets of free weights, 5lb and 8lb, a 46-pound-toddler, and a yoga mat. I have stairs in my building, two feet and a set of lungs to breathe in some air. It's all you really need. 

That, and a little motivation.

I'd love to have more time in my day to devote to spending an hour in the gym. I'd love to have the money to shell out on a gym membership. I wish I owned a bike. But right now I don't, so I do my best to make it all work.

I'm not a personal trainer or a nutritionist. I'm hardly an expert on health and wellness, but I know my body. I know my limits. That's where it all begins. Know your body. Know your limits. Know what works for you and what doesn't, where you're beginning and where you want to go.

In the meantime, want to burn a few extra calories this Wednesday?

Park further from the mall/store/office and walk. Don't drive a car? Get off the bus a couple of stops earlier and walk the rest of the way.

Tired of sitting in the office? Get up and walk around. Take 100 steps every couple of hours. Do a set of push ups on the corner of your desk, followed by a few tricep dips. Do it every couple of hours. It adds up.

Squeeze in a few sun salutations today, or better yet - make a 10-minute yoga practice your new wake up. You won't find a better alarm than a work out. You can thank me when you realize it only took one cup of coffee to get you going after that.

These are easy ways to incorporate a little movement into your day-to-day life, without cutting out a chunk of time that could otherwise be spent, you know, living. 

More important than anything else, love your body. Own it. We're all shaped differently, just like we all look different and like different things. We're not all supposed to be the same height, weight, shape.  Take care of yourself. Treat your body with respect, feed yourself good food and don't forget to give yourself a break now and then.

Painted

Ten.

That's how old I was when I first discovered stretch marks all over my inner thighs. Angry-looking and purple, I didn't know what they were. I hated them. For years, I refused to wear shorts. Even in the heat of summer, I wore jeans or Capri pants. By the time I was a pre-teen, stretch marks covered my thighs and the first few faint ones made their appearances on my butt and hips.

As I got older, though, they faded and around the time I hit junior high they were less-visible. I let myself wear shorts again. Dresses. Skirts. Bathing suits. For about eight months of the year, you can barely spot them - even if I am bare-legged - because they fade into the pale milkiness of my skin. During the summer, they stand out silvery against my tanned skin but it doesn't bother me any more.

When the first stretch marks from pregnancy appeared on my stomach and sides, I collapsed into tears. I was only two weeks away from my due date. From the bottom of my bellybutton to the top of a pair of bikini-cut underpants, my tummy is soft, a little stretchy, and painted with a few dozen stretch marks. I hated them for a while too, but they don't bother me either.

I wouldn't have F without them.

Sure, I'd love to have been one of the women who gets off easy and doesn't get a single stretch mark throughout her pregnancy - or, if you're my cousin, through multiple pregnancies - but I wasn't. For the first year after F was born, I donned a one-piece bathing suit. But now I wear bikinis.

Today, at the beach, one of the few mums who spoke with me exclaimed that she'd never wear a bikini or show her "mummy tummy" in public the way I do. She said she was too self-conscious. In her retro-inspired one-piece, this girl could have been on the front of a magazine. But, with a sarong around her waist to cover her "dimply thighs" (her words, not mine), she barely had the confidence to take off the layers she'd previously worn.

I busted my ass off (literally) to lose weight and get in shape. My stomach may never be tight and firm like it used to be, but I'm strong and I'm healthy and I've got something better than six-pack abs to show for it.