I’ve got some extra fat hanging around my midsection lately. Know whose fault it is?
I’ve been making excuses for quite some time.
- “It was so hard to eat healthy with just a microwave and a hot plate.”
- “It was so hard to work out in the hotel room and I couldn’t go to the gym.”
- “I’ve been so stressed lately and really just focusing on my depression stuff.”
- “I just took a shower; I can’t work out now.”
- “I just ate; I’ll work out later.”
- “I haven’t eaten yet; I’ll work out later.”
- “I deserve these tortilla chips and cheese.”
These are all things I either said or thought at some point to help me feel better about my growing mother’s apron.
But the truth is, it’s not the fault of the hotel room, depression, shower or tortilla chips. It’s 100% on me (both the fat and the responsibility). I am blessed with a vast quantity of resources for clean eating and no-equipment-required workouts. I even did one or two of those workouts in the hotel room and loved how I felt afterward! Yet, I didn’t continue. Story of my (exercise) life.
I lack internal motivation. In England, I had an amazing HIIT (high intensity interval training) class that I went to 3 times a week. I started going because my good friend was the trainer and harassed me about coming. I fell in love with the workouts and became friends with several people in the class. I became so fit and felt so good about my body – it was strong, could do awesome things like handstand pushups and looked pretty good on the outside. Then, we moved. And my physical activity came to a screeching halt.
I’ve dabbled in exercise here or there (a few runs in Estacada, a handful of HIIT workouts, some active playing with Colt), but really the only thing I’ve worked out in the past few months is my lazy muscle. And so I’ve collected some extra jiggle in the front of my stomach.
Some of that protruding jiggle is due to bloat, which I could easily fix by locking down my eating habits. I plan to do the 21 Day Sugar Detox once we get settled in Texas. I did one back in March and lost about 10lb and 1.5 inches off my waist (even though I sort of half-assed it). I’m waiting because it requires a lot of prepping and cooking; two things I won’t really be able to do on the road trip from Oregon to Texas. I don’t want to set myself up for failure.
Yesterday was one of the worst body-image days of my life. I just. Felt. Fat. All day. When I got home, I put on a pair of my husband’s sweats and one of his shirts because I couldn’t bear wearing any of my own form-fitting comfy clothes. I couldn’t handle fabric clinging to my little bit o’ chub. Then, the lowest of low: I contemplated starving myself for a few days. I know that isn’t healthy, and I know it doesn’t lead to permanent weight loss. Last summer, after my world crashed around me, I stopped eating due to the stress. I felt so skinny and kept up the feeling after I started eating again because I kept my food intake on lockdown. I found myself wanting to return to the worst feeling of my life, because it led to me feeling skinny.
Those thoughts were a wakeup call; my rock bottom, if you will. Starving myself would be another form of self-destruction and an easy way to avoid dealing with the root causes of my bad self-image. I chose the easy way out for most of my life; I am not returning to that.
So today, I am owning my chub. Madame Middlefat may be a guest who has overstayed her welcome, but I’m the one who invited her over. I made the decision to eat too many tortilla chips and to not work out. I’m going to take responsibility for the consequences of my decisions, without beating myself up about it. It happened, the pudge is there, but it’s a new day and I can always make different decisions.