The quest for happy imperfection…

So, it’s been awhile. (How come all of my most recent posts start in this vein? Recent is all relative but still).

There have been some ups and downs, but mostly just a flatline. I realize that I am now three quarters through a year that I thought would be a new beginning, with really no change from when this journey started. Well, there is change, but definitely not in the direction I was hoping for.  I currently weigh in at 208. I started this journey at 192ish. So, a net gain of 16 pounds.  But, I have learned some good, if not painful, lessons from this.

I have to do it. I can plan and create star charts and blog and buy healthy cookbooks and fill my closet with useless at home exercise equipment but in the end none of it matters if I don’t do the work myself.  What it comes down to is that I’m someone who knows exactly what to do and how to do it, but doesn’t. When it matters, I’m sleeping in for “five more minutes” or indulging “just this once”. I need to quit planning, stop thinking, and just start doing. It sounds so simple, and yet it has struck me as a rather profound revelation in just the past week or so. So let me echo the classic Nike catchphrase- JUST DO IT.

I need to stop punishing myself. Hating myself and counting stretchmarks does not make me want to get on the treadmill. Poking at cellulite is really more like poking at my fragile self confidence and slowly demolishing it with a mere fingernail. I cannot continue to hide from pictures and friends and family because I’m too insecure about my weight. I can’t pretend that my life will only be worth living when I lose “the weight.” I need to stop focusing on rolls and muffintops, focusing on my flaws only keeps me out of the gym and away from the embarrassingly large mirrors. I need to stop looking at exercise as punishment- squats and bicep curls are not reparations to be made for an increased pant size. Hating myself has only lead to destructive behavior and crippled confidence.

I love exercise. I do, really. I love the feeling of being sore after a workout. Or sweating. Or the feeling of accomplishment that I get. I love trail running and scenery.  I love increasing what I can lift. I love the kick ass feeling I get from high incline intervals and a rocking playlist. But, somehow I sit on my couch and convince myself that I don’t enjoy any of these things and really, I’d be completely satisfied watching tv and giving in to my late night Taco Hell cravings.        The sad truth is that I love the gym, I would live there if I could. But currently, I’m so out of shape that I get winded walking Lucy. Working out isn’t fun anymore because I can’t do any of the things that I want to do or that I used to do.  I need to remember how much I enjoy being active and push through the pain and discomfort to get back there.  

“Bad” foods really are just that- bad. I don’t love Taco bell or greasy burgers. Most of the foods that aren’t good for me really aren’t that satisfying, or at least not in the large quantities I seem to eat them in.  I need to stop the “I’ve already sinned, let’s make it count!” mentality that has me eating  far more food than I’m even hungry for. 

Really, this whole experience is a journey, with highs and lows. Its calories in, calories out. Trying new foods and staying active.  Staying motivated and yet realizing that its about more than motivation.

But what it comes down to is that I’m at the end of the diving board. The pool is warm, everyone’s having fun, and I just need to get up the courage to jump.