So...I have successfully run 4 times in 5 days, didn't eat crap (aka junk) all week, and as a result lost 5 pounds. Which is great. I am likely the only crazy person on Earth who chooses to start a diet program on Valentine's Day. Why would I do such a thing? Because I had the "Oh Crap" moment.
People have their "Oh Crap" moments at different times. Maybe some don't ever have their "Oh Crap" moment. Mine happened on Sunday 2/13, when I saw some of the pictures from Bart's birthday bash at EPCOT.
I quite literally did not recognize myself in some of the pictures. I thought I was wearing a somewhat flattering outfit - dark jeans are supposed to be slimming, right? - but I was wrong. As a matter of fact, I don't think there is an outfit that would be flattering on me right now. I just stared at some of the pictures, and could not believe that was actually ME. I don't see that in the mirror, so where does that person come from? Does she burst forth and multiply mass and volume as soon as I leave the house?
The reality is no - she's doesn't. She's me, and that is what I really look like. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life, outside of pregnancy. God bless Bart with his rose-colored glasses...I know he doesn't mind. My kids still love me, although I think they're starting to realize that I don't look like most of the other moms. (Tampa is a very fit community.) If you took 2 pairs of my jeans, you could build a tent to house 4 people (there's a tent tie-in coming in a sec...). It's that bad.
Here's the jest of it all. I am going on a surprise cruise with my kids in a little more than 2 months, and I want to be in some of the pictures. I live in fear that something terrible will happen to me, and my kids will have no record of me being a part of ANYTHING, because I'm always the one taking the pictures. This is not because I'm some accomplished photographer. It's because I hate the way I look in pictures. It's the reality that I don't like to see.
It's like that Jimmy Buffet song line that goes "I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent." This is me and Bart. He works really hard at staying healthy. Granted, some of it is genetics - his whole family is skinny, and his dad used to be a runner in the Boston Marathon. Some of it is conditioning. For 8 some odd years, he was a diver in High School and College. Those daily practices and 2-a-day workouts became a habit for him - a routine. If he stopped exercising all together, he'd likely feel all wacko. It's too much a part of who he is. He doesn't exercise as much as he did in college, but he still exercises religiously. 4-7 days a week. He doesn't eat a lot of crap. He basically sets a great example for our kids.
I'm the tent. I hate to exercise, I hate salads, and if I could live my life eating Mac and Cheese and drinking beer, I would. I am a bread cheese potatoes and beer kind of girl. My genetics are much harsher than Bart's. I have little willpower, and I set a horrible example for my kids.
That changed last Sunday.
I have been worrying about my weight and how I looked since I was in 7th grade. I can remember faithfully doing the "20 Minute Workouts" on TV in 1982. If I started when I was 12, that means I've been obsessing about this shit for 28 years. And I have nothing to show for it. I am still heavier than ever. I need to fix this now. My own daughter will be 10 this year, and I don't want her to waste 28 years of her life on body image obsession.
I realize that I am 40 years old, and I will never be 20 again. I'm not aiming to be a super model. All I want is to not hate myself so damned much. I want to be in the pictures on our fun vacations. I want to not constantly be disappointed and guilty because I failed again. I want to not cry in the dressing room because I am solidly in the Plus section. I have a wonderful life, a fabulous family, and terrific friends. I just want to spend less time miserable, and more time enjoying all the blessings in my life.
I just want to not hate myself anymore. That's my "Oh Crap" moment. That picture of my fat ass in front of a fountain in EPCOT's Italy.
I can't even post the pic, because I immediately edited out everything below my boobs. But trust me - it's that bad. And don't even get me started on the 3 chins...
1 comment:
yeah, I hear ya. I had plenty of those moments over the years. My birthday last year was one of them. The problem is they don't always stick. The pictures go away and so does the pain. I can't give too much advice because I can't even imagine how people with kids and a spouse that aren't doing it with them can do it. If B hadn't been doing WW, pushing me and ensuring that everything we ate or bought or came near was WW-friendly - I dunno. And going to the meetings helps, if you can find the right meeting, with a non-annoying leader (and WW leaders are generally annoying - there is one leader out there who subs at our location a lot, and if I see her, I walk back out. I've already been through Kindergarten once, I do not need to go through it again in her meetings). But I found one guy who I LOVE, and as a backup a woman who is hilarious, never fully awake at 8 a.m. meetings and is total wino so gets the pain of the 7-point glass.
The other thing I can say is that what helped was not having any kind of goal in mind. I figured, anything was an improvement so I went into it not caring how much I lost or with any time frame by which I had to lose it. I actually had no expectations at all, was sure I'd just fail again, so when I saw any improvement I just kept going, figuring, hell, I'm under 200 pounds, even if it ends there it's the best I've done in a while. Oh wow, I'm in the 180s? Dang. How did that happen? It's those goals - you know, "I have to be in the 140s by my 40th birthday" that kill you.
Don't beat yourself up. You're healthy, and that's the important thing. You're fit - you can run 2 miles. That's not easy and a body that's a complete disaster can't do it. Keep getting in the runs and make the smarter food choices and remember that you DO have a support system, even if it's 100 miles away (or however far I am, I don't know, I suck at math).
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