[This post got really long, so you're welcome to visit again tomorrow instead :) This is the why of how I got where I am. The why of my need to change. I need to put it "out there" to: own it, to account for it and hopefully change it. The story needs context: a begining, middle and end. I can't just start at my 46-year-old self. Read, or skip.]
As I announced earlier in the week I'm letting go and embracing my YEAR OF DO. My first area of focus is my Personal DO. In that area my priority is my weight.
I've whined for a while and I have made a half dozen or so half-hearted attempts at doing something about losing weight, with some success and some failure. I've let the failure win.
Self-sabotage is an pavlovian response with which I am very familiar. Through #reverb10, a process in which I was very honest in my thoughts and words, I addressed the concept of weight as my armour. Years ago I was shaped much like my eldest daughter: tall, broad shoulders, long legs, and curvy with a bubbly personality, lots of well-informed opinions and tons of athletic energy. In essence, a lightening rod for attention - some wanted and some not. The only thing left of that girl of my youth is my height, shoulders and well-informed opinions.
I have found, over the last couple of years, that my size makes me invisible. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it is true. It also feeds my self-sabotage because on those rare occasions I am noticed often people are mean. Yes, people are mean to fatties. Really mean. To the point where my losing 20 pounds would never be noticed so therefore, I wrongfully reasoned, gaining 20 pounds wouldn't be either. I live in a town with a great number of lovely people, but most of them are the LuLu Lemon crowd and rarely are they in sizes with double digits, let alone a digit that starts with a 2. *gasp*
Let's be straight here - I have no clue how much I weigh. It doesn't matter to me. It never has. What I am is 5'11" and I wear a size 22. What matters to me is my size. The size that worked best for me was years ago, before I had children and I was a size 14. Smaller than that I look emaciated and (to me) unattractive. That is my goal. Even a 16 would be welcome.
A bit of background:
When I graduated high school (in 1982) I was a size 8. I went to university I was a size 8. When I modelled I was a size 4, sometimes a 6. I looked like tits on a stick. It was terrible. In a fit of rage, many years ago, I destroyed all of those photos because I couldn't get work. I had been hospitalized for my asthma and put on prednisone, a powerful steroid and as a result, I gained enough that my wardrobe had to be replaced. In three months I became a size 10. I was deemed "unhirable". Time passed, I took a transfer, life changed and I became dedicated to my demanding career, I settled in a comfortable size 12 - 14. Amazing what happens when you work 70-80 hours a week, eat every lunch at the local food joint, fly at least 3 days a week and never make a meal at home - unless it's a dinner party for friends and then it's all "special" foods which are usually delicious and caloric.
For a very long time I lived a wild existence. I could do what I wanted. I could date who I wanted. I got what I wanted, when I wanted. I was confident. I was unattainable. I was selfish. I was competitive. I was sleep-deprived. I was successful. I was living life out loud, 100% carefree and looking for a good time. I loved every single minute of it - with and without the hangover.
Until I had children I don't think I ever had much more than a lemon and a jar of dijon mustard in my fridge. Nothing fresh or with an expiration date!
(Not even wine. Truth be told, I never drank wine until I moved to Oakville.)
Then I grew up, conformed, settled down. Four kids in five years, in a body over 30, is probably not the recommended course to keep your body fit and firm, but it isn't the reason I am now a size 22. So much more added to it: I often don't eat breakfast or lunch and live on coffee until around 2PM; except for housework and laundry I don't move as much as I should; there were two non-baby-related hospital visits where there was more prednisone, ugh; my wine discovery; I quit my 25+ year smoking habit; almost lost my youngest child; two failed businesses (aka a stop to pouring good money into bad decisions); a challenging marriage; the regular demands of children and change. Life is getting in my way! An emotional, physical and intellectual whirlwind.
Essentially I forced myself, with intent, into a position of non-priority. In some warped fashion it is my armour. My safety net. My forced resistance to temptation. By becoming so large and unattractive I have provided prevention; in this condition there is no chance to revert to my wild and carefree days. It screams that I am a mum - not a mum with a need for attention or extracurricular activity - which has reached epidemic proportions in my town. (On that note, it has worked for the most part, but news to the ladies struggling to be a size 2 and have such drawn and old looking faces as a result of their tremendous (admirable) control and effort: some of your husbands like some meat, and I have plenty, which has not proven to be the deterrent I had hoped!)
I took a while, but I've come to realize that my weight no longer defines my self worth. Or lack thereof. It isn't even providing the armour I thought I needed. My health and weight should be a reflection of my love for my children and myself.
And it is.
Plans for my Personal DO
Move More, Eat Less is a program put together by Cathy Zielske who has impeccable timing. I'm so ready to do this, though, in my case it might be a matter of move more, eat more since my biggest problem is not eating breakfast or lunch then binging by dinner.
My preparation includes: downloading Cathy's fitness journal templates from Designer Digitals, joining the group on Flickr, loading classic books (lots of Jane Austen and Fyodor Dostoyevsky) onto my iPad and dusting off my recumbent bike. I'm even thinking of heading to the mall - not to shop (ick) but to do join the seniors and walk a couple of hours each day until the weather improves. That or buy a treadmill.
When did I start? Well, I start on SATURDAY, JANUARY 8th, yep, tomorrow. Why a Saturday? According to the brilliant Dr. Oz, most resolutions are stuck to when they start on a Saturday rather than a Monday and this is the first Saturday when things are "normal" as all of my kids were back to school by Wednesday. From the lessons learned when I quit smoking (hardest thing I've ever done ... ever, that last time) I am giving myself the best opportunity for success possible.
On that note, it's wrong to say I'm starting on the 8th as I've been going through some behaviour changes since before our Thanksiving in October:
- cut back on wine (though I think I should just cut it out completely)
- cut out cheese which has been brutally difficult
- eat only one meal a week outside of my kitchen (chicken fingers and garden salad with no dressing at the rink before Cole's home games on Thursday nights.)
- eat two fish-based dinners each week
- eat breakfast as often as I remember
- cut back to one cup of coffee every morning
- to bed at 10PM if not earlier
I've become consistent at all of those behaviour changes. With that I mean, over 90% of the time those statements above are true. What I have not done is add in any exercise. That has to change. NOW.
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If you've made it this far, bless you.
Feel free to send me any advice, ideas, opinions, links, whatever you think I need to keep me on track!
