I Exercise Because I Love My Daughter

I hate exercise.

I hate the sweat rolling off my nose and into my mouth while I attempt a walking plank.

I hate the tightness and soreness in my muscles.

I love seeing the number decreasing (instead of increasing) on the scale.

I love seeing and feeling the changes in my body.

Most importantly, I love my daughter, and I hate the thought of missing any part of her life.

If you’ve read my blog, you know that I attribute a lot of my goals for mommyhood to things I learned from my mom. One of the greatest lessons was taught the hardest way. My mom is my motivation for losing weight and being fit because she was too busy selflessly caring for her three kids to take care of herself. I believe that played a large role in the cancer that took her life.

I love my mom more than words can describe. I miss her very deeply. And it is because of that love and that aching that I want to do more than she was able to do in terms of health. I want to instill the importance of physical health, as well as spiritual, emotional and mental health. The only way for me to do that is by first instilling it in myself. That is no easy feat, my friends!

I enjoy playing volleyball and basketball, and I used to love running sprints. I do not enjoy 50 minute workout videos that leave me trembling and sweaty, curled up in a ball on the basement floor. Not that I have ever done that. …

I exercise because I love my daughter. I want to be at her college graduation. I want to show her friends embarrassing photos from her youth. I want to take her for drinks when she gets her first big job. I want to help her plan her wedding and watch as she walks down the aisle. I want to hold her babies in my arms and teach them all the things my mom wasn’t here to teach Charlotte. I want all of these moments and all the little, forgettable moments in-between. I want those things because I didn’t get to experience them with my mom.

I hate exercise, but I do it for me and for my daughter.

I hate sweating, but I will count every drop as an extra hour with her.

I hate feeling sore, but it is a mere pinch in comparison to the pain she will feel when I am gone.

This is what I remind myself on nights like this, when I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and forgo the workout. What’s 50 minutes of my time after Charlotte’s asleep?

Oh, just a couple more hours of life later on.

I love the sound of that.

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