I mentioned the man who asked if I was pregnant? And I mentioned how “aha! I’m at a weight I would probably shut myself in to a closet after reading on the scale in college and now I’m celebrating it!” Well, that closet thing… it is moments away. This weekend I realized why I felt so icky about that weight in college and sort-of revisited that feeling.
We visited my college town this weekend. It’s a lovely town full of parks and coffee shops and places that make you go “oohhhh! Ahhhh!” There are views of mountains and large bodies of water. There are also a lot of views of beautiful people. People who are fit and active and represent everything I am on the inside. Me. The old me. Who I think I still am but don’t see in the mirror any more.
The view from my eyeballs is still the same. I still feel like the same active, fit person I was ten years ago. I still feel like I wear a size 8 and can run 10 miles without thinking twice. Then I put on my pre-pregnancy clothing (size 12) and can barely breathe. I look in the mirror and see the tummy spilling over the buttons that are straining to contain it. I lay down and my belly lays beside me. I run and it runs, too, out of sync with the rest of me. It’s something I am starting to resent. My belly.
My belly and I had a long few years. It grew whole entire people. It made people. I can’t even make a decent fajita and yet, somehow, my belly made an entire person. This is so impressive I can’t explain it. Perfectly formed people came out of my body. And now? It’s no longer perfect, not that it ever was, but at least before it had a decent shot at it.
Sometimes I glance in the mirror and almost feel shocked at what I see. My face looks similar. My boobs are about the same. But that belly? The ass? What is THAT all about? My legs? Where did they come from? The scale, it lies. The jeans, they lie. It’s all a big ol’ joke on my psyche and I ain’t laughing.
But the thing is, I’m tired of telling myself I am someone I’m not. I’m tired of telling myself I am exactly like I was and it doesn’t matter what I do now. It does matter. I am not the same. I’m a reproductive machine and it’s time to move to phase two: get over it already. But at the same time, I’m tired of telling myself I can not be that person any more. I’m tired of telling myself I was never the thin, fit, active, toned, perfect body that I see in those athletes I want to be like. I’m tired of reminding myself how much I worked in college to have a mediocre body and how it’s OK to be mediocre. I’m ready to be more than that. I’m tired of telling myself I’m not ready to make those commitments. Because maybe I am.
It’s the start of a new month. Bills just got paid. Laundry was just finished for the week. Plans are set for the next three weeks and everything is firming up at home. Now it’s time to firm up the person in charge of it all: me.
I’ve been neglecting the fitness portion of this site too much. I post only about once a week or so. And while my goal is to be more fit, it’s not to be on the computer more. But maybe it’s time for some accountability. Maybe it’s time to check in twice a week or so. And I promise to be honest with you and you can be honest with me. Then I’m ok with giving what I can. In the mean time, having a mind-set of “make huge changes and re-create yourself” is a bit overwhelming. Even goals like, “eat better and drink more water” are too vague. I’m going to focus my chi on one goal a week. I think it’s a good time and a good place to start. Because there’s never going to be a change if I don’t start changing something. Today.
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