The breath is the fire

I've been going to the gym once a week pretty consistently since September for cardio bootcamp. (I think toting Nico around during his weekly swimming lesson should count as exercise for me, too, since I spend half an hour towing him around the pool so he can kick and lifting him up onto the side to "jump" in over and over.) I haven't seen much as far as noticeable changes in my body. I'm still large of thigh and embarrassingly ginormous of breast. My post-baby gut keeps on hanging on. True, I'm back into my pre-pregnancy pants size (though not all of my actual pre-pregnancy pants). The workout pants I bought when I went back to yoga class after having Nico now fall halfway off my ass if I'm not careful. I guess officially, I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight. But really, I don't see much difference.

I feel the fit, though, I do. I'm lifting heavier weights during circuits at boot camp. When I tried a new cardio kick class via a groupon at another gym, I found I could keep up without wanting to die. I'm probably in the best muscle-shape and cardio-shape I've been in since college, even if my actual-shape is decidedly fluffy. Underneath all the chub, something is shaping up. (Also, I might still have back fat and a muffin top, but damn, my shoulders are starting to look awesome.)

Here's something else:   I like going to the gym. No, I love it. I never thought I'd be a gym kind of person, but here I am. It hurts, and I like it. Sometimes I'm still self-conscious about how I look, about how slow I jog during class, about my still-shot abs, but I keep going back. Probably I'll never be really thin again, considering how long it's been since I could claim that adjective, but I'm going to keep pushing, I'm going to keep getting stronger, and who knows...maybe one of these days my fat yoga pants will just drop right off.