I suck

[pegkerr]

This was the second day of resuming my bike commute, and the first I rode all the way home instead of taking the light rail part way. I put my bike into the garage, crawled into the house, and almost burst into tears.

I suck at this. My god, it's only five frickin' miles; how can I be so exhausted? Could I be starting to feel effects of the tree pollen that made me so dreadfully sick last year? I thought my exhaustion might be because my tires were low; however I filled them up last Thursday, the last time I rode.

On top of everything, I managed to break my bike odometer when I dropped the detachable part on the bathroom floor when I was kitting up into my biking gear to ride home. It's probably under warranty still, but I dunno if I can find the receipt.

"I hate this," I moaned to Rob and the girls and they put their arms around me and made soothing noises. "I feel old and fat and useless and out of shape."

Rob laughed out loud at that. "You are none of those things."

"Well, maybe not," I groused. "But I absolutely feel that way." Then I looked at the girls and felt a searing wave of guilt. What was all my moaning about my weight teaching them about distorted body image? Rob was right. It wasn't true, and I felt absolutely ashamed of myself for even saying such a thing. I would never ever say such a cruel thing about another person; it wasn't right to say it about myself.

Great. Wonderful role model you are, Peg . Now I'm a screw up as a mother on top of everything.

I reflected, as I tottered upstairs, that as far as I know, I don't think my mother ever rode a bike home from work a day in her life.

I'm probably loading the bike too much, but what else can I do when I have to pack my work clothes, repair kit, shoes, purse and lunch? My purse alone weighs probably seven pounds. I know, I know, I know. Shut up. I have to carry it all. If you lived my life for twenty-four hours, you'd understand why.

On top of everything, I have sparring tonight. Me and a bunch of testosterone-fueled twenty-year old guys. Great. Another opportunity to feel old, out of shape, and physically inadequate.

Edited to add: Yeah, probably not all in my head. The pollen count is super high in Minneapolis right now.

Comments

[qwyneth.livejournal.com]

You know, Peg, I went shopping with my mother on Sunday. At one point I was in the changing room as she was trying on a shirt. Now, my mother is thin, and wears probably a 6 or an 8. But she's got no muscle. None. Despite how much thinner than me she is (I'm a 12), she's got probably twice as much fat as I do. She looks better than me in clothes, but it's all an illusion.

Growing up, I never once saw my mother try to better herself. I saw her spend money on exercise clothes and equipment, but never once use them. She criticized herself (and me) plenty, but that was it--she never actually did anything about it. (And believe me, watching my mother--who has a smaller frame than I do--call herself fat has reinforced my belief that I am fat.) So that's what I learned: I should have a thinner and smaller frame than my mom did to be worthwhile, it's normal to hate yourself, and it's pointless to do anything about it.

You are a human being, and your daughters see that. There are things you struggle with, sure. But you do something about them. You have overly self-critical urges, but you recognize them as a problem to be fought. You are on a constant quest to improve yourself and your life, not because you aren't a good human being, but because it improves the quality of your life. Your girls see that. They are surely learning from you that it's ok not to be perfect--indeed, that no one is--but that striving to be a better person enriches one's life and creates happiness and satisfaction.

I don't know your girls, but they sound like fantastic human beings. You're clearly doing a wonderful job.

[pegkerr.livejournal.com]

I guess you are right about what I am teaching my girls. The very first important mother/daughter I had with Fiona I remember very vividly: it took place in the hospital the day after she was born, when I held her for a couple hours and as I was falling in love with her, I told her that I wanted to be a perfect mommy for her, but I knew already that I wouldn't be, and I hoped she would forgive me for that.

I had almost the exact same conversation with Delia after I came in so whipped from biking. It ended with Delia kissing me and telling me, "Nobody's perfect, Mommy. And that's okay."

Thanks. I remember that, I know that, but I still I need to hear what you've told me here whenever I forget again, every once in a while. I appreciate your taking the time to comment.