After the weekend debacle of ill fitting pants, accompanied by all the other stressors, I tried to accept that I had gained weight (again!). Feeling like I just wanted it all over with, I ran the numbers officially today. I stood on the scale, held the body fat percentage machine, and stood still while the tape measure clicked away.
There's good news, and bad. First, the bad. No weight loss. No change in body fat percentage. No change in measurements. I've spent 12+ weeks now, sweating and busting my butt at least twice a week, with no numerical difference.
Now, the good news. I did not gain any weight, either. Sure, I'm no better than I was 12 weeks ago (from the number point of view), but I'm not worse off either. And the truth is... I am better. I'm not fantastic. Or ready to run a mile. But I am more active. I'm much more involved. I'm just moving.
So. I refuse to be held hostage to these numerical things. Sometimes it's more than just numbers.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Click.
I feel like I've really gained weight the last few weeks. It occured to me last night that a few weeks ago is when I finally fully weaned the kid. I didn't improve my eating habits, so I'm guessing that the calorie burn I was doing naturally while nursing was helping a little.
I really need to do something about this.
I feel particularly frustrated about the whole diet/fitness thing today because I just have no energy. A quick jog down the block left me breathless. Climbing the stairs seemed hard. Logically, I know this is becuase I'm running very low on sleep and energy reserves (plus, I missed some of my medication doses). Emotionally, it just feels like I've eaten myself back into a trap.
I really need to do something about this.
I feel particularly frustrated about the whole diet/fitness thing today because I just have no energy. A quick jog down the block left me breathless. Climbing the stairs seemed hard. Logically, I know this is becuase I'm running very low on sleep and energy reserves (plus, I missed some of my medication doses). Emotionally, it just feels like I've eaten myself back into a trap.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
I've spent 12 weeks trying to tackle this weight thing. 12 weeks of showing up, sweating everywhere, pushing and pulling myself into something better. 12 weeks of nearly perfect attendance. And I've signed up for 6 more weeks.
These days, I run after the kids. Today I chased bicycles, ran in circles, tossed a ball around. Yesterday, I missed a phone call because we couldn't hear the ring over the ruckus we were raising, stomping our feet and spinning around, doing our wild crazy dance. The other night, I took all three kids out bicycling by myself. I'm almost new. I dance with a new freedom of being, knowing joy found in setting some goals and achieving them.
My freedom is fragile. I'm still enslaved to my addiction. I still stuff my feelings under helpings of cake. I justify my fast food stop. I'm drowning in my own skin.
Yesterday (after the dancing incident) I overhear my mother in law talking about this exercise thing I've been doing. She was almost bragging on me, talking about the strenuous work I've been doing. I felt like such a fraud. Today, I put on a pair of pants that fit two weeks ago... and could barely button them. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to spend the afternoon in a swimsuit, surrounded by thin and fit people, and canoe down a river.
I packed a pair of shorts and a tshirt to wear, because I'm not sure I can brave the suit all afternoon. Out of the water. I tried to bow out of this adventure last week, but my convenient excuse was solved for me and I was too chicken to admit the real problem.
I don't feel joyful. I just want to cry. And eat. I feel like such a failure. And I don't know how to say it outloud to the people who care, can help, will support. So I dug back into this space, because it feels like the whispered in the dark admission.
These days, I run after the kids. Today I chased bicycles, ran in circles, tossed a ball around. Yesterday, I missed a phone call because we couldn't hear the ring over the ruckus we were raising, stomping our feet and spinning around, doing our wild crazy dance. The other night, I took all three kids out bicycling by myself. I'm almost new. I dance with a new freedom of being, knowing joy found in setting some goals and achieving them.
My freedom is fragile. I'm still enslaved to my addiction. I still stuff my feelings under helpings of cake. I justify my fast food stop. I'm drowning in my own skin.
Yesterday (after the dancing incident) I overhear my mother in law talking about this exercise thing I've been doing. She was almost bragging on me, talking about the strenuous work I've been doing. I felt like such a fraud. Today, I put on a pair of pants that fit two weeks ago... and could barely button them. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to spend the afternoon in a swimsuit, surrounded by thin and fit people, and canoe down a river.
I packed a pair of shorts and a tshirt to wear, because I'm not sure I can brave the suit all afternoon. Out of the water. I tried to bow out of this adventure last week, but my convenient excuse was solved for me and I was too chicken to admit the real problem.
I don't feel joyful. I just want to cry. And eat. I feel like such a failure. And I don't know how to say it outloud to the people who care, can help, will support. So I dug back into this space, because it feels like the whispered in the dark admission.
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