I wish that I could blog only about the good days, the victorious triumphs on the scale, and the funny-awkward moments that are good for a laugh. But this would be unfair to you and a complete disservice to my own efforts. So we'll call today's post "A Big Girl's Disclaimers" so that you understand what I mean.
Big Girl Disclaimer #1: Losing weight (and keeping it off) takes a crapload of time.
There are some days...well, to be technical it would be the six days prior to my period...when I think about the fact that it might take me another two years to get down to my goal weight, and I feel like falling apart. At times like these, I would love to eat my way through my sorrows and just give in to the hopelessness of the situation. But for whatever reason, there is a switch turned on inside me and I cannot go backwards. I can only accept that some days are going to be worse than others, some meals are going to be worse (in calories, never quality) than others, but I must. move. forward.
Unfortunately, I am the product of a generation of people with microwave mentality. Everything that I want can be attained almost instantly, be it food, dating, conversation, music, or information. Instant gratification isn't all bad, mind you, but when it becomes your only way of living life, it is incredibly unhealthy. This mindset of immediacy does not translate to long-term weight loss, either. I should know, I've tried every kind of diet you could possibly think of and when those weren't fast enough, I resorted to weight-loss surgery. At the time, I was 20 years old and I looked at lap-band surgery as my last chance at a normal, happy existence. And for the first six months or so, I believed that it was. It's amazing how much weight a person can lose when they're put on a four week liquid diet followed by two weeks of eating only soft foods. The problem is that when you don't change your poor eating habits prior to the surgery, you're pretty much setting yourself up for failure afterwards. When I started to balloon back up to my pre-surgery weight, I was overwhelmed with feelings of shame, failure, and humiliation. I felt like I blew my last chance at happiness and instead of dealing with those feelings, I ate them. Now when I go to Zumba, Piloxing, Yoga, Cardio Sculpt or the two times that I've tried Kardio Karate, I walk into a room that is covered in wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mirrors. You know that saying "Everywhere you go, there you are"? This is literally true in that room. In moments of great personal frustration, I look at myself in the mirror and all I can see is 80 lbs of regret and failure staring back at me.
I'm not writing any of this to incur your sympathies or pity. I write this because I have been forced to re-condition my mind, body, and spirit to welcome the pace through which my victories come. Each pound is a step in the right direction and each struggle is an opportunity to grow. If you find this cheezy and clicheed then by all means, please time travel back to 2011 and have a chat with me about the likelihood of attending 5AM Spin classes, or Jersey Fitness for that matter.
Big Girl Disclaimer #2: You are the only person who can motivate you to lose/gain weight, not anyone else.
I decided to lose weight after I had a panic attack about being set up to meet a guy. That guy, however, is not the reason I'm doing this. I am. I'm the one who gets on the machines, I'm the one who goes to classes, and I'm the one who gets up at 4:10AM to go to Spin classes on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. These 80lbs that I carry with me are mine, too. I ate the potatoes (and tiramisu), I flopped on the couch, and I continued to pay for a gym membership (donation) that I didn't take advantage of. In short, I take must take full responsibility for my actions, or inactions. I can assure you that God does not issue out any 250 lb, 5 ft-2 people.
And while this journey is my own, I love meeting new people along the way. As I mentioned before, getting a membership to Jersey Fitness wasn't easy for me; however, my options were this: make the best of it and make this place your community or pay an exorbitant amount of money to another gym. So I opted to make friends. What's great about group classes is that when you're new, there are always other new people who are struggling awkwardly along with you. This common struggle, in conjunction with endorphins, forms an instant bond of camaraderie. I'll often come into classes, joke around about whatever body part is hurting me as a result of another class, and fall right into place with everyone else. Whenever I bring in new people to Zumba class, for instance, I will make a point to dance up on them like a total idiot. My theory is that when you're too busy cracking up, you forget to feel out of place. When you're new at a gym, it's very easy to think that the other people there are watching you in silent judgment. I'm sure that this might be true to some extent, but mainly everyone's just doing their own thing. In every single one of my classes, there is always someone offering a word of encouragement or assistance, if needed. This goes for the instructors as well. When I stopped feeling intimidated by Chrissy's dance skills, and when I stopped misconstruing everything Lucas was saying in Spin class, I found out that they're really likable, patient, easy-going people. At last year's Relay for Life, I actually joined the Jersey Fitness team. And when I was determined to walk 10 miles that night, all of my classmates were there cheering me back to the tent after my 40th lap. Lucas even convinced me to walk two more laps with him.
If I were to reduce my point to a sports analogy, I'd say this: You're the only one who can run this race, but make sure you have plenty of people cheering you on in the sidelines and at the finish line. I really don't know what this process would look like for me if I didn't have the support system of my friends, family, church, and gym.
Big Girl Disclaimer #3: Do not live and die by the numbers on the scale.
My doctor is kind of hot and I won't lie, that's definitely a perk to doctor's office visits. Unfortunately, in order for me to admire his hotness, I am required to step onto his rather loud, relic from a World War II battleship, balance scale. It's the kind of scale that makes a loud, resounding CLANG when you step onto it. The bells of Notre Dame are quieter than this thing. This scale also comes with a smug nurse who will spend about ten minutes pushing the marker to the right in order for the stupid thing to be perfectly balanced, all while raising her eyebrows and saying something like, "Well...it looks like you're at 251, Angela". I often would like to respond by saying, "Yes, I can see that. And even though I ate a burrito and about 32 ounces of water 20 minutes before I walked into this office, I am so glad you decided to screw with my already fragile emotions by letting that marker do the Cupid Shuffle around 250 for the past 10 minutes, all for the sake of accuracy." By the time I see hot doctor, I've got PTSD. Post-traumatic scale disorder, in my case.
Luckily, not all scales are created equally. I certainly don't break down into tears every time I hop onto the digital scale back home (the same cannot be said for Hot Doctor's balance scale, though. Every time I'm on it POOF! Instant waterworks.). In addition to learning to embrace the slow pace of weight loss, I have also had to emotionally disconnect from scales. I hop on them once a week in order to track my progress on the piece of paper hanging in the Bills' cupboard. Obviously I'll feel a sense of joy or frustration over the number, but I'm really trying to not let the numbers dictate my progress. I'm trying to view the numbers as reminders to keep trudging forward. Sometimes, however, I do something completely idiotic like last night when I ran upstairs to weigh myself after having a dinner with friends that consisted of: a huge salad, two variations of pasta (one in a butter sauce), a piece of chocolate cake, two cups of wine, and a large mug of coffee. I have no idea why, in a carbohydrate infused euphoria, I decided to hop onto the scale but I crashed almost immediately. Moments such as this serve to remind me that 1.) You should only ever weigh yourself in the morning after you've peed and 2.) It's just a number, not a prophecy of impending doom.
Life goes on.
I apologize if this post is a little bit darker than the previous ones. I just didn't want you to get the impression that I wake up every morning and look forward to taking a nice long run, or a super early bike ride (Confession: On Friday mornings, Scott and I usually do send each other texts saying how excited we are to go to Zumba class). Most of the time I have to push myself into the gym and do what I gotta do.
But it is absolutely worth it. Losing weight is difficult, challenging, frustrating and slow-going. It's also the most rewarding thing I've ever done for myself. If you're looking for a quick fix answer from me, my friends, you will not get it. If weight loss is something you're struggling with, I will not be the girl to tell you, "It's not that hard, I promise". I will be the girl who will say "I know exactly what you mean. Wanna come to Zumba with me?" The only promise I can make is to provide you with as much love, support, and encouragement as others have shown me.
Hang in there. After all, tomorrow is another day.... Love your blog!
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