As much as I love to drop the F-bomb, I am not referring to that F word.
Instead, I am referring to FORTY.
In 2010, I gained forty pounds due to my pregnancy and didn’t lose an ounce after I delivered baby #3. How is that even possible? Naively (even after three babies), I thought that I would lose at least nine pounds at the delivery given that I passed an 8 lb, 10 oz butterball, but nope. Somehow I dropped almost a nine pound baby and my body elected to carry a phantom baby in his place.
Forty seems to be a haunting reoccurring theme in 2011 too. It looms behind every corner. That dreaded F-word surrounds me as two of my closest friends and I are turning forty this year.
Funny, I don’t feel forty and I don’t think I look forty (Thanks to Demi Moore and other cougar mamas who made forty the new thirty), but the sound of it sends chills down my soon to be osteoporosis spine. Am I really that old?
But before I hit the Big 4-0, these forty pounds have got to go, which leads me to two more F-Words: FAT and FIT.
I refuse to be fat at forty. I will become a mom on the run again. In 2011, I commit to being fit.
And to put my money where my mouth is (instead of food or beer for a change), I will compete in three half marathons (13.1 miles) in the next four months. That’s close to forty miles just in races! (39.3 to be exact, but close enough)
Fourty. There’s just no escaping it this year. Fuck.
*This post was inspired by*