Walk A Mile (Or Three) In My Shoes
As part of my determination ... no my teeth-gritting, nail-biting, do-it-or-die decision to be healthier and lose some of this weight, I started walking this summer. To date, (and the mileage may actually be more, I'm figuring this in my head) I've logged 44 miles. I average about 3 miles every single day. It doesn't feel like I'm walking 3 miles. I mean, that's practically a 5k ... just one tenth away, to be exact! In other words, a race ... that runners run ... or walkers walk ... yeah. I am doing that. Every. Single. Day.
I feel great! I feel strong. I feel like I could take out a twiggy girl that twirls her hair and snaps her gum and eats chili cheese fries and never gains an ounce. That's okay, her heart is clogging up while mine is beating unfettered by plaque. So, yeah, I feel great!
The thing is ... I am seeing the slightest bit of definition in my legs and rear, but the scales? They really aren't moving.
It freaks me out. During my weakest moments, when people are reminding me over and over again in various obvious ways (and not so obvious ways ... they think they are being helpful) that I'm "a chub," I realize I might never see that body I use to have. The body that I took for granted ... the one that had curves, but not a lot of rolls or cellulite or bumps and dimples. The one that used to look nice in a bathing suit ... and skirts ... and jeans ... and just about anything. Yeah, that body.
I fear I may never see it again. And listening to other people (skinny, fat, it doesn't really matter) tell me things like
I debated even writing this blog because it was so personal, and the last thing I want is any one's pity. But I realized, in writing it, I am a fighter. I have fought back from the brink of a lot of my own personal demons, and this is just one more that I am going to need to train like a beast to defeat.
I LOVE the GYM CLASS HERO'S song THE FIGHTER. I've decided it's my new theme song. So beware, this Fighter is gonna kick some serious demon butt!
I feel great! I feel strong. I feel like I could take out a twiggy girl that twirls her hair and snaps her gum and eats chili cheese fries and never gains an ounce. That's okay, her heart is clogging up while mine is beating unfettered by plaque. So, yeah, I feel great!
The thing is ... I am seeing the slightest bit of definition in my legs and rear, but the scales? They really aren't moving.
It freaks me out. During my weakest moments, when people are reminding me over and over again in various obvious ways (and not so obvious ways ... they think they are being helpful) that I'm "a chub," I realize I might never see that body I use to have. The body that I took for granted ... the one that had curves, but not a lot of rolls or cellulite or bumps and dimples. The one that used to look nice in a bathing suit ... and skirts ... and jeans ... and just about anything. Yeah, that body.
I fear I may never see it again. And listening to other people (skinny, fat, it doesn't really matter) tell me things like
- "Oh! Should you be eating that?"
- "But you have such a pretty face ..."
- "Those black jeans really do camouflage the fat, don't they?"
- "Well, I mean, just get out and work out more."
- "Have you seen someone about this?
- "I can eat anything I want, and it never shows up on the scales."
- "You might have a thyroid problem..."
- "Just enjoy. You only live once."
I debated even writing this blog because it was so personal, and the last thing I want is any one's pity. But I realized, in writing it, I am a fighter. I have fought back from the brink of a lot of my own personal demons, and this is just one more that I am going to need to train like a beast to defeat.
I LOVE the GYM CLASS HERO'S song THE FIGHTER. I've decided it's my new theme song. So beware, this Fighter is gonna kick some serious demon butt!
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