Throughout my twenties, I was the queen of couch lounging. Late mornings? Count me in! Breakfast of champions? Bring on the chocolate PopTarts—four of them, please! My idea of an exhilarating weeknight? Binge-watching reruns of Friends while demolishing a bag of Doritos.
I never felt particularly unhappy with how I looked or my fitness level, even if my jeans routinely hovered in the “plus size” realm and I often found myself gasping for air after climbing the stairs to my apartment. At 25, I tied the knot with a guy whose livelihood revolved around fitness. He had adored my couch potato self since we met at 18, so I figured, why change? He seemed perfectly content with my “junk in the trunk.”
When I turned 28, I welcomed my first daughter, and the couch potato lifestyle seemed ideal for new motherhood. Fast forward to 31, and I had my second daughter. Nine months later, I ran my first half marathon. The first half of my training was torture. Every. Single. Mile. Sure, I was doing it for myself—I had clung to a few stubborn pregnancy pounds from both girls and was teetering on the edge of needing a larger size than I’d ever worn. But honestly, it was my daughters’ exuberance that pushed me to keep going.
My eldest was three, full of energy, while her little sister was the busiest baby I’d ever encountered. I needed to keep pace with them and tackle the demands of motherhood. More importantly, I wanted to set an example—show them a strong, capable, confident woman. When I hit a wall at mile ten on race day, it was their cheering faces on the sidelines that gave me the strength to push through.
The conversation with my girls doesn’t include “skinny,” but it does revolve around being “strong” and “healthy.” I steer clear of discussions about losing weight or feeling fat, knowing the world will bombard them with those ideas soon enough.
At 33, I was surprised with a baby boy. Now I had a five-year-old, a two-year-old, and a newborn. My husband had just launched a new business, and I was battling a joy-sucking case of postpartum anxiety. Something had to give, and running could have easily been the first to go. I had already shown my girls that strength was possible, right? Yet, I realized I had to keep going—for my son.
He’ll grow up to be a boyfriend, a husband, a father, and just like my girls need to learn that women can be strong, he must understand that too. I want him to appreciate a partner with healthy self-esteem rooted in abilities rather than appearances—someone adventurous enough to join him in rock climbing or mountain biking.
When he becomes a father, I want him to encourage his daughters to play sports just like he would his sons. Many moms focus on being role models for their daughters, but our boys need guidance too. They will shape their views of potential partners based on what we demonstrate.
I want all three of my kids to understand the value of health and know they can achieve anything. I want them to recognize that women can be strong and confident—and yes, that it’s perfectly fine to indulge in a fourth chocolate PopTart every now and then.
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In summary, my journey from a dedicated couch potato to a motivated mom has been fueled by the desire to set a positive example for my children. It’s not just about fitness; it’s about instilling values of strength, confidence, and health in both my daughters and son.