Well. Another new year is upon us. And a whole heap of weight is upon me. Damn. I’m fat again.
Of course, I’m mad at myself for allowing such weight gain in the past two years of my life, despite continuing to race. I feel as though I have failed; as the losing all the weight that I did really means nothing because I haven’t been able to keep it off. Each time I log into MyFitnessPal – and am completely honest, re: weight – I feel like a loser (gainer?). Is anything really different this time? I thought it had been, because I’d finally learned that weight management is a process not an event. I thought that because I found an activity that I really enjoy that I would be able to maintain my weight loss within 5 to 10 pounds. It turns out that I am still not over my habit of using food as a way to cope with changes in my life. Marriage, stepchildren, moving. Two weddings (long story)! It was a lot of business. Plus, food still tastes GREAT. Nevertheless, I still need to do something about my current weight, because I am not as healthy as I could be.
I think I should be thankful that I am in a place where I recognize that my problem is not so much the fact that I’ve regained weight that I’ve lost but the fact that it was easy for me to do so because of how I deal with change in my life. I also think I have issues with my body image that allow for me to be indifferent as to how I look. It doesn’t seem to matter whether I weigh 150 or 200; I seem to always see a fat person in the mirror. It is much easier to follow a plan and make more good choices than bad than it is to really zero in on what it is that causes me to feel this way. That just might be a beast that I will have to fight for all of my life. I hope my goals for the year are not incongruent; I would like to run 4 Half marathons and lose 40 pounds. 10 pounds per race. Ha. I will be writing more in the coming week about why I have chosen those particular goals, as well as how I feel I performed in 2016 and meeting those goals.
Here’s to not completely screwing up 2017. Happy new year!
We all know it’s the same me. I just want to get her into my pants.
I don’t see the point in making sacrifices unless I’m going to be, like, totally HAWT.
It turns out that I’m not crazy for not liking what I’ve been seeing in the mirror. I tried to be kind to myself in my previous post regarding staying within a reasonable range of my weight loss, but the fact is I’m displeased. I weigh 15 pounds more than my lowest weight and I don’t like how I look OR feel. I finally donated all my big(ger) Joan clothes and the only reason I don’t regret it is because someone with much greater need is now using them. If you don’t believe that things are getting out of hand, look at what the girls did last week:
Yeah. Bras aren’t supposed to do that. In guess it was begging for dear life and the girls busted free. RIP dear titty holder-backer – by the way, you don’t really realize how much you rely on a bra until you pop out of one in the middle of your workday. But I digress.
I’ve not been eating out (except for that one time). I’ve been meeting my calorie goal set by Blonde Oprah the vast majority of the time. Coachie says I’m training well. What do I have to show for it since I started this year?
ONE. LOST. POUND.
Meanwhile, I feel like I have no life. I miss smaller races. I miss smaller Joan. I know, I know. “You weren’t training for the same distances last year!” I also was a lot happier with my progress. What’s the point of going a million miles in the water/on the bike/on my feet if I’m going to be a fatso finisher? It is hard to be proud of what I’m doing if I hate while I feel as I’m doing it and don’t feel good in my clothes the other 10 hours of the day that I’m not training.
I either need to reevaluate my goals for this year or just be happy that I won’t be spending any money on race photos.
So, remember when I had that meltdown earlier this month? Also, remember when I became morbidly obese? Sigh. The picture above is a screenshot of my sleep patterns for the last 3 months. Notice the big ass dips at the beginning of May and June in sleep quality.
I WONDER WHAT HAPPENS AT THE BEGINNING OF EVERY MONTH THAT THROWS MY BODY OFF.
I’ve…I’ve been a girl all my life, y’all. I’m a little ashamed that it’s taken me this me long to come to grips with the fact that my period is kind of a game changer. Not just in terms of how my body handles changes but how my brain handles those changes. Now, I need help figuring out what my body needs so that the changes don’t make me feel like my world is bloody collapsing in on me 25% of the time. That is an unacceptable drop in productivity.
I’ve lost 5 of the 10 pounds, by the way. I’m a crazy ass champ.
Yes. I do. Ten, in fact. Ten to be pleased with myself, five to exit panic mode.
“But Lady J,” you say. “You look great! Why are you obsessing about a number?”
You’re damn right. I’m fine as hell. And thank you, by the way. But this 10 that must be rid of came on in TWO. WEEKS. Yes, the past two weeks have involved carb loading for a race, an upper respiratory infection, and a sprained ankle, and I’m also winding down in what has been an insane school year. No matter.
But my clothes feel fine.
Don’t get it twisted. I feel pretty miserable. I could very easily attribute that to my maladies and lack of exercise. However, I haven’t been eating well and I knew that the scale would read a higher number than I like. But 10 pounds? I would have NEVER guessed my debauchery has been that bad.
There are some who advocate judging your current state by how you feel generally and how your clothes feel. I’m betting I would have had to gain another 5 pounds before my clothes started to feel different. 10 is bad enough, but 15? No thanks.
Many proponents of not looking at the scale also are of the thinking that you should not beat yourself up. To them I say, “What if you’re full of shit?” I know that I’ve been falling short of what is best for my body. I don’t deserve hugs and kisses for gaining 10 pounds. I need to tighten the F up and deal with it. I know better and did not choose to do better. Am I going to berate myself for two weeks of bad decisions? Probably. But so help me God, those 10 will be off by the end of the month. Sanity and self-love be damned.