Remember a couple of months ago, I complained that I gained a few pounds after I quit My Retail Job? The Retail Job that kept me on my feet, moving, lifting, squatting? The Retail Job that, even if I got home at midnight, sat and had a cocktail with DH and 30 squares of cheese and crackers, I kept my weight off because I burned like a thousand calories per shift? Wait. Why did I quit My Retail Job again?
Anyway, I promised everyone on my Facebook page that I was going to lose those 8-10 extra pounds. If I didn’t I would put up an embarrassing pic of myself (which is weird because every pic I put of myself on here is embarrassing). I was gaining weight and I wanted to make myself accountable.
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Embarrassing pics numbers 1, 2 and 3. What’s your favorite?
1) This is a pic of me and my BFF circa 1984. Perm, Jordache jeans and the lightning bolt crop top were so cool I was like an ice cube.
2) You already saw this. But after thinking about it, I was wondering why would I put a pic of myself taking a poop on the toilet. It’s so embarrassing I thought this fit the bill and needed to be repeated.
3) There is so much wrong with this photo it’s right. So, what do you like best? The unidentified blob of brown on my bottom, the pushed up practically to the knees elastic sweatpants, the white knee socks or the black high top Reebok sneakers? I don’t know but I sure do seem to be in a hurry to get to my red solo cup. See kids, we knew how to party and were doing the red solo cup long before you. You all think you’re being so sneaky…
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Okay, so here’s the deal. I heard somewhere a long time ago that you really shouldn’t weigh yourself. That if you are happy with the way you look and you are healthy, then what your scale says shouldn’t make a difference. After I lost those almost 30 pounds last year, I became obsessed with checking my weight every single day. I lie not. Every day. I would get up in the morning, pee, poop, take off my 10 ounce nightie and step on the scale. And I was maintaining my weight. That was good. I was happy.
Then I had knee surgery so I stopped exercising. After all, I had My Retail Job (see above). Then I quit My Retail Job. And I started having serious pain issues with my knee so I used it as the perfect excuse to not do any exercise at all. Even though my physical therapist and doctor said I could bike. It was too cold, too hot, raining, blah blah blah.
So, I gained 8-10 pounds. My new, smaller jeans were a tad tight. Just a tad. I can’t say they were horrible. Maybe showed a little more muffin than I cared to show, but it wasn’t bad. But I freaked the freak out at the weight gain.
I started exercising again. I rode my bike, got on the elliptical, went for walks even if pain was shooting to parts I didn’t even know existed. I started watching what I put into my mouth. I lost maybe 3 pounds.
It is no secret that I adore my wine and love my food even more. The weekend would come and we would go out with friends. I would go out to dinner with the fam. I would have a bagel for breakfast. A ham sandwich for lunch. Wine with dinner. By Monday most of those maybe 3 pounds I lost would be back on. Then I would start over again. It was a vicious cycle. I’d get angry at myself. Exercise my ass off all week. Eat salad and blueberries all day. Lose a pound or two. Weekend comes around and by Monday I’m back up again.
And then I had an Aha! moment that would make Oprah proud. I’m not meant to be rail thin. I had gotten down to my wedding weight. Actually, I had gotten down to my wedding weight for a day. Then I gained about 4 pounds and held steady.
When I was 25, that weight looked good, normal. At 47, not so much. My body has changed over the years. My hips have widened a bit with the birth of my child. Body parts have moved around with the birth of aging.
DH actually told me he didn’t like my “wedding weight.” My ass was gone, my boobs were diminishing. He “likes his woman to have some curves. Curves are sexy,” he said. So, who am I to deprive my guy of some sexy curves? Pfft. I wouldn’t want to do that. Besides, it’s too hard to keep a body curve-free. It’s just too much dang work, I tell you.
I have come to the conclusion that I live a fairly healthy lifestyle. I exercise in some form almost daily, I eat right most of the time. If I want to trash it all for a weekend of fun with family and friends, I’m going to. I have one life. I’m going to enjoy it. I have a really difficult time turning good food and drink away so I’m not going to. It’s a balance. I know when I’m in danger of putting on serious weight, and I’m keeping that in check. Because I was unhealthy when I let those nearly 30 pounds pile on me.
But these 8-10 little pounds? I’ve tried losing them. I can do it, I’ve done it before. But why do I want to struggle with those pounds for the rest of my life? That’s not fun. I have a weight that belongs to me. A weight that is my normal. I like the way I look in the mirror. I look healthy. I look “sexy.” I’m good with that. And I haven’t stepped on my scale in 2 weeks. She’s a bitch anyway.