I know it.
You know it.
Doesn't mean it doesn't happen.
Today is most certainly one of those days where I'm having a lot of it going on.
Maybe it's best to get it out and see what happens...
Who am I kidding? My weight is going in the wrong direction. And the excuses are piling up.
I'm not eating right.
I hate grocery shopping with every fiber of my being.
I hate cooking even more.
I use that hatred to feed into the not-buying-good-food thing.
It's just easier to prepare the ready made crap or order in which makes me feel just like it - crap.
I can blame the not-going-to-the-gym thing on my feet all I want. The reality though, is that as much as my feet hurt, the rest of me hurts too. I'm starting to feel like I did a year ago. In a way, I feel worse. Both physical as well as psychological.
Taking the physical first: I'm up 18 pounds from my lowest weight last year. EIGHTEEN pounds! What? Really? I was floating under 10 but have bumped up to 18 rather quick. Amazing how fast it comes on. Anyway, I am in a constant state of bloat. I can hardly breathe. My pants are getting tight. At first I hardly noticed. Today was another story though. My pants were so tight I could barely move. My stomach hurts from being restricted in them all day.
So, my pants are getting tight, and I'm up on the scale. I'm also noticing that it's getting harder and harder to do the physical things. I get winded climbing stairs which was an easy task not that long ago. Walking up the street to bring my son to the busstop isn't fun either. I hurt all over and it's just three houses down the street. Really? That short of a walk is doing me in? Really? Really.
The psychological toll is even worse than the physical.
The psychological toll feeds the physical.
It's a never-ending cycle. If I don't jump off of quickly, I will end up being up another twenty pounds heavier and right back to where I started from. Scary, scary thought.
Anyway, I can't stop beating myself up. Again, I know it's not productive, but I'm doing it anyway. I can't escape all these thoughts. It's something I've lived with for almost 37 years. It's a thought process that is so engrained in me, I really don't know how to make it stop.
I've been heavy for as long as I can remember. I've talked before about how I was put on diets as a young girl. My pediatrician as well as my gym teacher would always comment on how I needed to lose weight and it was never put very kindly.
I've never felt good about myself. Never. People in my family (well meaning) would always say "but you have such a pretty face"...that's the worst thing you can say to someone with a weight problem. Yes, your face might be pretty but the rest of you? Well, you need a lot of work....that's what I took from it. Right or wrong, it's how I felt. I will never, ever, say "but you have such a pretty face" to anyone!
Moving forward to my teenage years...and even just before...I BEGGED my parents to let me go away to "fat camp" during the summer before entering high school. I so desperately wanted to fit in. I wanted to have the boys like me. I wanted to be noticed and not because of my "thunder thighs".
When I was in the eighth grade, I had my first big crush. I was so "in love" with this boy that I sat next to in science class. We got along really well. We always laughed and had a great time in class. Soon it started to become a little more than just a "classroom friendship", we began passing each other notes in the hallway and if there was time, we'd stop to chat for a moment. We were becoming friends and possibly a bit more. That was until his buddy told him that I was too fat to like. Man did that hurt! It hurt bad! It affected our friendship too. It was the first time I really listened to my mother's advice; She told me that I needed to just let him think about what he did (said) and let him come to me. She was right. He eventually came to me to apologize for hurting me. Our friendship was never the same.
(As a side note, the boy who told him not to like me because of my "fatness" was fat himself. It's rather laughable in retrospect.)
It was that incident that led me to wanting to go to Weight Watchers summer camp. I was more determined than ever to get "skinny" and fit in for the start of high school. I lost 24 pounds and 3 dress sizes that summer. It wasn't enough. I still didn't fit in. I was still 60 pounds or so over weight. Not many could see how much work I put in during that summer. The good feelings I had from the summer soon passed and with it went my smaller waste line. By the end of high school, I was in a size 26/28 and pushing 260 pounds. I was a miserable mess.
Every year during high school (and years since) I would tell myself "next summer I'm going to wear a tank top, I'm going to lose this weight and I'm going to finally enjoy the summertime!" Every. Single. Year. Last year included. The difference though is that last October I really believed that I would be closer to my goal. Oh how wrong (again) I was/am.
When I started losing weight last year, I reminded myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. I lose weight at a snail's pace. Always have. Always will. I've kept it in the back of my mind that it's A-OK to lose 50-60 pounds in a year. It'll take me a while, but I will eventually get there.
But, here I am. Eighteen pounds up from my almost-50 down.
It's high-time I let that go. It's time to brush it all off. Forget about the past. Take a deep breath and move on. I need to remember why I started taking better care of myself last year. I need to remember what it felt like to feel good. I was feeling good about myself physically and mentally a first since that summer spent in Weight Watchers camp. I need to find that girl again. I know she won't be hard to find. She's not that far gone. Just need to pull her out of the rut and push her back in the right direction.
Update: When I finished writing this piece, I got up and popped in a workout video. I'm now sweating a feel so much better for getting some of this out and giving myself a "beating"