I am sure it is no huge shock to anyone that losing, or trying to lose, a substantial amount of weight can be a real mind-fuck. There are the obvious similarities between drug addiction and food addiction, but that is a post for another day. What’s been on my mind lately is the body image ups and downs that happen during the process of weight loss.
I’m the first to admit it; I am a product of my generation and my country. I want it and I want it now! (Yeah. We know. Shut up Veruca!) Once I have decided to change my habits, I want to see results. Maybe not immediately but in a timely fucking manner.
I’ve been doing Weight Watchers and getting a fair amount of consistent exercise since mid-May. I’ve lost 25 pounds. I’m still wearing the same jeans, but they are a bit looser. I’m able to fit into several shirts that I have not been able to wear in quite some time. My endurance/fitness level is greatly improved. When I am laying in bed and poking and prodding at myself I can feel that I am thinner. While I’m on it….you dopoke and prod yourself too right? It sounds odd, but it’s a good practice to get into. It is how I discovered the cantaloupe sized ovarian cyst….but again, a post for another day.
That said, I’ll have moments in the day when I feel like I am looking good…dare I say, a “normal” regulation sized human being. But then I’ll remind myself of how much I actually weigh (225 currently) or look in a mirror and realize, “Uh. No.To the rest of the world you are still a fat chick.” Let it not go without saying that I am aware that their are folks in this world who are fat and are ok with it. If you are, go on with your bad self. But I don’t want to be that way anymore. I don’t want to look it, I don’t want to feel it. It’s not because I think fat is ugly or because I think people will love me more if I am thinner. It’s because in my head I am not fat. The title of this post is a bit of a misnomer as, in my head, I am not skinny either.
In my head I am fit. I am an athlete. I do not fantasize about being able to wear runway clothes or wear a string bikini. I fantasize about climbing mountains, and running, and mountain biking, and surfing, and riding dirtbikes and not needing help picking it up if I drop it in the sand, and getting on my horse from the ground without it being a freaking project.
I want to be, nay, I AM a badass. I’ve never let my size get in the way of anything. If I want to dance, I’ll dance. If I want to go to the pool, I’ll go to the pool. I’ve never, ever been one of those “people of size” who stop themselves from doing the things they want to do because they are embarrassed by their appearance.
However, it’s becoming more and more apparent that my size is preventing me from enjoying the things I like to do at the level I would like. Hence, the desire to finally mold my body into the image in my mind.
The frustrating point right now is that the image is in constant flux. Unfortunately, the constant play in that body image results in a lot of mental stress. It’s funny, (not funny ha-ha) how before I had decided to make some changes, how less aware I was of my size. I suppose it is an ‘ignorance is bliss’ kind of thing. Don’t look at too many pictures, don’t focus on any full length mirrors, keep living life and my mind was able to convince me that I was indeed nowhere near as fat as my weight would suggest. Then thanks to some fun health related issues this year I was forced to realize that maybe, just maybe, it would behoove me to lose some weight.
And then the obsession begins. Initially I was sick over how fat I’d let myself become, but felt good about the fact that I was doing something about it. And then one starts getting frustrated that it is not coming off fast enough and the feelings defeat start. And then you get to the point where I am at now…the results are really starting to show, little by very little.
But I don’t know who I am anymore.
I went walking with a couple of friends last night. Both want to lose weight, but neither are what I would classify as overweight. We started walking the mile long bridge in our town and when I got to the top I started jogging, and proceeded to do so all the way down. Walked back up the other side, jogged back down. The other gals could not jog at all. Naturally, that made me feel pretty good. “Look at me! I’m an athlete!” When I came home, I felt good. I felt powerful. Weighed myself this morning and seeing that I’m still 225…BAM! I’m a fat-ass again.
It ain’t right. It aint’ healthy. But…and I know some people hate this phrase (suck it) it is what it is. I need to just keep on, keepin’ on (Am I good with the overused cliche’s or what?) and power through. So when will my mental image of a bad-ass athletic momma ever jive with reality? Without second guessing? I don’t know for sure…you’ll just have to stay tuned. Though I have a strong suspicion, as this is not my first rodeo, it’ll be when I can consistently shop in the regular section of a clothing store, or do cool things on vacation that don’t have me wondering if there is a weight limit I am going to surpass and/or quite frankly, when I get below 200 pounds.
But for now, I’m riding the crazy train and I don’t think it’s stopping any time soon. Toot! Toot