Guest Blog | Balancing Work, Life & Health

Written by guest blogger, Julia Diggins

I think the standard advice for weight gain during pregnancy is something like 15-25 pounds. I’m really not one for goal-setting. (I know, I know.) But, that’s one goal I knocked out of the park! My doctors and midwives must have been impressed when I hit the 65-pound mark. I’ve always been competitive and those pounds came easily.

Not only do I have a competitive spirit, but I love sports. In high school I was a, mediocre at best, three sport athlete. I spent as much time as possible on the volleyball court or softball field. My dad would come to basketball practice and we’d pitch in the gym after I got done running up and down the court for two hours. I’d get up in the morning and run with my friend and neighbor a couple of miles each morning. There was no shortage of activity for me. However, I’ve also always been “an eater.” Eating always was, and still is, hands down, one of my all-time favorite activities.

During those high school days, my friends and I would order whole pizzas on the way to basketball games and eat them in the back of the bus. I ate cheeseburgers at our team breakfasts. (Yes, for breakfast.) During my college years some of my fondest memories were made over drinks and an order of Topper’s cheese sticks. Luckily for me, I liked to move and had a fairly good metabolism. Although I wasn’t in the overly thin category, I could still squeak by with a bikini on spring break without too much embarrassment.

So, pregnancy was a bit of the perfect “let’s pack on some pounds” storm for me. I was 28 years old with a slowing metabolism. I was working a full-time “desk” job. I had been married for a couple years and was enjoying the newly found freedom of the “We actually have money to buy groceries and go out for dinner and drinks” days. And, then, in the morning, I could top it off with a Starbucks mocha. I also discovered early on in pregnancy that the more I ate, the less nauseous I felt. I’ve had a few, just a few, hangovers in my past and as far as I was concerned there was no reason to feel like that just because the monster inside of me thought I should have a breakfast pizza with my mocha. So, I indulged.

The day I went in to deliver my son, Mack, I had to step on a scale. (Really, why on earth at that point does it matter?) 198 pounds sure looked good on my 5’4” (5’5” if I stand up straight) frame. Strangely, I did not deliver a 60 pound baby. In fact, that seven pounds of bouncing baby boy hardly moved the scale.

Fast forward another three years and another overly indulgent pregnancy. Suddenly, I was three years into this “mom” gig and I was heavier than I had ever been before. I was, as most new moms are, exhausted, and just in the general “blah” stage when it came to my appearance and feelings about my body. I look back at pictures of me at that time and I looked as tired as I felt.

At some point, I decided I needed to do something. I had lost weight before at various times and was a firm believer in the weight watchers principals, although I’ve never in my life actually attended a meeting. Exercise more and eat less and you’ll lose weight. The concept of weight loss is not difficult. However, understanding it and doing it are two entirely different things. On January 1, 2012, I committed to a New Year’s resolution. My daughter was six months old. I followed Weight Watchers from what I had taught myself by researching on the internet. I never paid one dime for any tracking or help or meetings. (There is nothing wrong with those things, I just didn’t need them.) I started walking. Yes, I was tired, but I committed to a 2-mile walk every day. And, it did not take long for the weight to start to come off. I started walking further, even jogging once in a while. And I did not cheat on my new “diet.”

That February, I had a work trip to San Antonio, Texas. While I was there, I had a chance to do a little shopping. I remember I walked into a Gap and grabbed a size down from what I had been, as I knew I had lost a little weight. The lady laughed at me and said I needed at least two sizes smaller than that, so I laughed at her. But, she eventually convinced me to try it and a size I had never worn in my life fit.

For the next few months, I hung in there with what I was doing and continued to see results. I started running more. Remember that competitive spirit? Well, it pushed me to run more—longer and harder. I discovered I enjoyed running and was actually pretty fast. I started enrolling in races as motivation. It started out small, 5Ks, and grew into half marathons and more. I started getting competitive and found out I could actually place well in these races. That fueled me and I was running a lot. I stuck to my new eating regimen, very strictly, and I eventually reached a weight I was comfortable with. Life was good. I looked and felt good.

But then, there was sort of this “now what” that settled in. This is the part of any weight loss journey no one ever tells you about and, for me, was probably the most difficult. Let’s face it. A 35-year-old, full-time working mom of two, isn’t going to suddenly become an Olympic runner. Nor, did I want to. In fact, I was getting tired and worn out. I also wasn’t going to be able to maintain the very strict eating I had been keeping up, nor did I need to continue to lose any weight. I needed to find balance. How much exercise was enough, but not too much? How much focus on eating did I need to have to maintain and feel good, but not lose?

Eventually I found a “plan” (although you’ll never seen this plan anywhere else, I’m sure) that worked for me. What does it look like? Well, I still run—5 days a week. I do it first thing in the morning. When I don’t, I don’t want to do it later. If I get up and get moving before my mind is working, I’m ok. Plus, I feel so much better all day on the days I work out. Don’t get me wrong, I look forward to my days off, but I can tell all day that I’m not totally “on my game” like I am when I get it done in the morning. I go for about an hour for four of those days (sometimes fast and get more miles in, sometimes slow and just enjoy it). The fifth day, I do less. I have a certain mileage I try to hit for the week, so depending on how the rest of the week has gone, that fifth day varies. I’ve also learned that to minimize injury, it’s important to do some stretching and strength training. I hate lifting weights. So, this part is always more of a struggle for me. When I’m done running, I get home and I force myself to do 5-10 minutes of body-weight strength training. I mix it up and try to do things I don’t hate. Sometimes I do two minutes and then take a shower and do two more minutes and make my kids breakfast and do two more. I get it in, but I break it up so that it seems less burdensome. No one would ever look at me and say I look strong with a straight face. However, about a month or two ago, while at the playground with my kids, I discovered that, for the first time in my life, I can do pullups. I’ve never trained to be able to do that, but over time and through pushing myself, I guess I’ve gained that ability. I’m actually a little more proud of that than I probably should be. My mile times don’t impress me that much, because, in general, that’s come easier to me. But, a pull-up?!

In terms of maintaining, though, I’ve realized that exercising is less than half the battle. Maintaining the body I want, and that makes me feel good, is more about my eating than anything else, which for someone who likes to eat as much as I do, is unfortunate. But, again, I feel better when I do it right. So, what works for me is eating near perfectly during the week. I eat healthy, clean, and watch calories and sodium Monday through Friday. But, I relax on the weekend. On Saturday and Sunday, I eat whatever I want. I love baked goods of any kind. I like fancy coffee drinks. Pizza is my favorite food and burgers are a close second. If I could only eat good bread with butter for the rest of my life, I’d be happy. I have all of these foods, and as much of them as I want, and enjoy every minute of them. I try to eat them slow to savor it. But, the minute Monday morning rolls back around, I’m back in my routine. People always tell me it must be easy for me because they see how dedicated I am to it. It’s not. Many days, I watch others eat foods I’d rather eat, and it makes me question whether this is all worth it. Every week, by Friday, I’m ready for something greasy. But, I do it and stick to it because it helps me teach my kids about balance, it keeps my same clothes in the closet, and, most importantly, it makes me feel good. I honestly can tell a difference between Sunday evening and Thursday evening. My body feels better when I eat better.

Will you find my “plan” in any nutrition magazine? I doubt it. Will what I do work for everyone? I doubt that too. Will it work for me forever? Nope. I’m certain it will have to adjust with time, circumstances and everything else. It works for me, for now, that’s what I’m focused on.

​With two active and busy kids, a full-time job, a second, thriving job owning my own business, a dog and a cat, and a thousand other demands on my time, I most often can’t look more than a day, maybe two down the road. So, I focus on now. I try my best to live in the moment, and I constantly strive for balance.