The post below was originally published in 2011, and it's been updated each year to reflect where I am in my life and the new...Read More
Sobered. Humbled. Sucker Punched.
Yes, universe, thank you. I’ve got the message loud and clear: There is no end to journeys worth taking. There are no shortcuts on the path to places worth going. To reap the rewards, I’ve got to work hard, remain focused, and try to keep singing a happy tune while I trek along.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
I had kind of a rough weekend in the self-esteem department. I’ve got hormone poisoning that just won’t end. I had to go bathing suit shopping. And my pushup assessment was… meh. I’ve been doing a bang-up job of beating myself to a bloody pulp for about 72 hours, but starting in 20 minutes, I’m going to stop.
My “no food logging” experiment can’t really be deemed a success. It happened during the perfect storm of being in the post-half-marathon energy slump, hormone plague, holiday weekend, and an all-too-rare visit with my parents. All signs pointed to “eat whatever you want and worry about it later,” and that’s just what I’ve done. I’m fighting pretty hard not to fret and to just start eating right, but my noggin isn’t quite on track yet. You would have a panic attack if I told you all that I’ve eaten in the last few days.
My mom has missed out on my “buying new jeans that fit” and “buying new bras and underwear that fit” adventures, so when I mentioned that I needed to get a bathing suit ’cause mine are too big and I’m going on a beach vacation soon, she volunteered to take me to the mall and help with running for sizes, assessing fit, etc. All I wanted was a black tank suit that scooped in the right places. Doesn’t seem like too much to ask for…
I’m not proud of the way I handled the equation of:
fluorescent lights + bathing suits + hormone poisoning
Everytime I looked in the mirror, my internal critique list ran rampant on an endless loop:
legs: too short
skin: too pale
waist: too wide
shoulders: too broad
back: still flabby
And what’s with all the scars?
I despaired! I did. I hate to admit it, but I did. I know I’m supposed to be the “cheerful in the face of adversity” motivator and say things like, “It’s a celebration! I’m at a healthy weight now… yay! It feels so good to do pushups and run. I’m just so grateful… blah blah blah.”
But you know what? I’m vain. I wanted to put on a suit and look awesome.
To be fair, I look OK, and the reflection in the mirror is certainly much better than last year. But I’ve got a long way to go. And that was a rough realization to face. Over and over. In a full-length mirror. Under fluorescent lights. With hormone poisoning. And my mom handing me suit after suit in a rotating pattern of sizes.
So, yeah. Kind of a morale buster this weekend.
But I’m trying to come back from it.
You know what’s cool? Spending time visiting with my mom and dad.
You know what else is cool? Thirty-seven people willing to come to together to do pushups for six weeks… just ’cause we can. And we kinda want to. And because we like each other.
And you know what else is cool? Having two new bathing suits (that I actually really like despite only kinda liking the bod inside them) and holding fast to the belief that if I eat according to the Zone and work as hard as I can at my workouts every time, my body will eventually catch up to my desires.
You’ll have to excuse me now. I have eight more minutes of wallowing left, then I’m going to bed, waking up at 5:45, putting my heart into a workout at CrossFit Central, and coming home to eat grilled chicken, blueberries, milk, Fiber One, and almonds.