I'm just gonna start this with a little disclaimer, because this is a touchy subject. If a person doesn't care about their weight, that's fine. I actually envy the confidence that a lot of my friends have when it comes to their self-image. I don't think thin people are prettier than heavier people or vice versa, and I think it's dangerous to equate weight with happiness. I'm also super uncomfortable writing this post. I don't deal well with......feelings.
That all said; I can't walk up a flight of stairs without losing my breath. That's not okay. And a big part of that is my weight. And though sometimes I like the way I look, I usually don't. This might just be because I don't really know how to dress my body. But, and I know most people will probably think me vain or incredibly insecure, I also just don't like how I look when I'm this overweight.
Of course, it's not all about looks. I'm also physically uncomfortable. My chin? It shouldn't be all up on my neck the way it is. That's freaking annoying. My arms and legs are way bigger than they once were, and it's uncomfortable. I can't really explain it, but I'm sure some of you can relate. I'd like to be able to hold my arms to my side and not look like a giant football player whose pads are stopping him from touching his arms to his torso.
It's also about health. Yesterday I talked about my recently discovered liver issues. If it is fatty liver, I can't cure it, but I can prevent it from getting worse. My cholesterol and that type of stuff isn't horrendous, but I'd like to get it to the healthiest levels possible. There are a host of other health I have, and I'm not sure if my weight and eating habits play into them, but I'm sure it doesn't help.
Remember when I said it's dangerous to equate weight with happiness? I said that because I didn't want this next point to come off as..... I can't even think of a word. I just don't want anyone to think that I consider weight to be the most important factor when it comes to being happy. Really, it probably shouldn't be a factor at all. For me, I know my weight is a reason I don't play any sports anymore. And I remember how much I loved playing tennis and basketball, and I know without a doubt that if I did that more often, I'd be a little happier. Aside from cripplingly low self confidence (like, not going for a walk because people will see me type of crap), I physically can not be active the way I used to. So it's the lack of being active that's affecting my happiness, not my weight, but the weight IS a huge part of why I'm not active. So dropping a few pounds can help in that department.
I'd also like to be stronger. Even now, in such bad shape, I'm physically strong. Unfortunately, it's only in spurts and comes at a cost of four days recuperation. I was in North Carolina last week and had to pull/push/lift when we were tubing and the tubes of two people who couldn't really swim popped. I was able to do it, but I felt like death on a stick the next day. I'd like to not be knocked out for days after being active.
The thing is, I have enough mental issues at the moment. The very last thing I need is to beat myself up if I give myself a goal of losing 5 pounds and then only lose 4. Especially since my tendency is to give up all together if I don't get off to the strong start I imagine. My first reaction after hearing what my doctor was telling me about fatty liver was essentially self loathe. I was pissed at myself for eating so horribly the last two years of school. So I came home and laid down and stared at my ceiling, going into a mental rant about how much I suck. SO HEALTHY. What a coping mechanism!
But since I'm getting better at trying to be more confident in myself and to analyze things instead of beating myself up, I eventually came around to thinking about the situation the right way:
1. I didn't exactly have a good start to life when it comes to health. I mean, when you're given soda in your bottle from the time you're born, you're going to have a hard time NOT drinking soda. When you don't know how to cook anything relatively healthy, you're going to have a hard time learning to do so. (My instinct here is to blame the fuck out of my parents, but rationality is telling me that, while it's not okay that they did the things they did, they had their own battles. Understanding it, not justifying it.)
2. Sure, I didn't have people feeding me bad food when I was in college. But those last two years, I woke up at 5 every morning, went to work, left work, went to school, and when classes were over, went back to work again. I was in a perpetual state of exhaustion, and really, getting fast food or take out seemed like the only options. I was too tired and didn't really have time to cook, most days.
3. Having a million and one bad things happen in such a short period of time makes you sad. I guess when you're depressed, you're always "depressed." But when I went into deeper depression (I guess. I don't know what to call it. Ruts?), it was a miracle if I showered and put clothes on. The thought of going for a walk or something like that was laughable.
I'm not saying I shouldn't have paid better attention to my health, but there were real issues at play, and it doesn't help me at all to be mad at myself for letting myself get to the weight I'm at now.
But, since I have that tendency to talk down to myself, I'm not using numbers at all. There will be no use of any scale. I don't have one and I won't be getting one. I know that I'm around 227 right now. My heaviest was 260-something, and I've lost a lot over the last few months just by cutting back on the fast food. I wasn't really doing anything with the intention to lose weight, I just know that McDonalds for dinner everyday is a bad, bad idea.
I used to say my goal weight was 165-175. That's where I was at a few years ago, and while that's technically considered overweight for my height, I don't care. I was active then and I felt good. And while of course I considered myself fat then, looking back I realize I didn't look bad. Ah, hindsight. But I don't want to freak out if I'm not at that number in twelve months. I don't want to get angry at myself and the world if next week I step on a scale and see I've lost nothing. So instead, I'm going to ignore scales. I'm going to keep experimenting with healthier recipes and I'm going to try to be more active. I know my body, and I will know when I'm at my healthiest. For one, I'll be able to walk up a flight of stairs.
I'm going to have one update post per month so I can look back and see where I've come. I'll try to include a picture of myself in each one. I'm also going to write about recipes and work outs so I know what I like and what I don't like.
This week? Roasted beets. I'm "eh" about them. They weren't terrible, but I still have some left and I'm going to try using them in different ways to see if I like anything involving beets at all. But my meals are better overall. This week has been the Week of the Mushroom. Good stuff. I'm not using butter or vegetable oil as much, I'm reluctantly using things like whole wheat pasta and quinoa. So I'm getting there.
Hopefully by this time next year, I'll be healthier and more comfortable with myself. May the odds be ever in your (my) favor.
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| Pretty much the only full-body picture I currently have of myself... |
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Charlotte
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