On Battling the Bulge

Now this is dedication. I typed this entire blog on my phone. :) Whoa! Talk about thumb cramps! Anyway, onward with the blog!






While in High School I maintained a steady weight of 140 pounds. This wasn't a point of pride, or really even a concern for me. I just didn't think about it. At all.

I'd never had a tight flat stomach like so many of the girls. Mine had always rounded just a little at the bottom-- which for some reason I don't understand, many guys find sexy, my husband leading that race.

Not horrible by healthy standards, but I definitely didn't seem to have the body of a teenager.

Several years later, after my first pregnancy, that ended in the birth of an Angel no longer with us, I hit my lowest weight since puberty.

125 pounds.

This weight probably had more to do with what I wasn't eating, and what I was drinking--heavily and often-- than it did with any sort of weightloss plan or exercise regimen.

That however, is a story for a much later time.

After the birth of my daughter in October 2007, I weighed 135 pounds, a point of happiness for me considering my previously fluctuating weight.

Who knew being recently married, never seeing your new husband, and living in Hawaii almost completely alone could cause weight gain?

I know now...and so do you, kind reader.

Ah, I digress...

Six wonderful weeks after having my daughter, and enjoying the lowest weight I'd been since meeting my husband, I went on birth control--and promptly started packing on weight like I was a whale prepping for a cold spell.

I did everything I could to lose the weight.
The more I dieted, and the more I worked out, the more weight I gained.

When I hit 166 pounds on a 5'5" body, I knew something needed to change.

The birth control went away, I started drinking  Slim Fast shakes and watching my calorie intake. From October 2009 to December of that same year, I lost thirty pounds, and kept it off.

Unfortunately, happiness is seldom long lasting or guaranteed. Though I didn't gain anymore weight, I realized I wasn't where I wanted to be--physically or mentally.

My husband deployed in October of 2010, and while he was gone I used the pent up frustration to fuel my body shaping needs.

I worked out everyday, and still watched my calories-- a habit I've found is incredibly hard to break once you get into it. When he returned seven months later, I weighed the lowest my body can weigh and remain healthy. The look on his face when he saw me was priceless... and it didn't hurt that some of his first words after, "I love you," were "you're so tiny, I'm afraid to break you."

Since his return my weight has fluctuated between 128 and 134. By no means am I fat, but sometimes there is an eating disorder just lurking about waiting to hit me. It's a horrible feeling, and a scary realization.

Right now, my niece and I are doing P90X, not because we need to lose weight, but because we want to tone up.

We just finished our third week, and we are noticing changes in our arms, legs, and our butts.

Yes, for those who have known me my whole life, I am finally getting a butt. I can hear your gasps through the internet...my hearing is that good.

There is still quite a few long, hard, workout intense weeks ahead, and I'm sure there will be other noticeable results, or at least there better be dammit.

The thing is, physical fitness and being happy with yourself are not mutually exclusive, and not a one shot deal.
As a person gets older, their bodies change, and things start shifting and bulging.

It's life. It's natural, and it sucks.

You have to do what is right for your lifestyle, what is best for you, both mentally and physically.

Overall, be happy with yourself.

Don't be concerned (like I am) with every minor weight fluctuation.

Don't worry that you're not as skinny as actress XXX. Chances are she just came out of rehab for another eating disorder. 

Speak to a doctor, and do what is safe and healthy for your body.

Trust me when I say, it doesn't matter how skinny you are, what size pants you wear, or how much you weigh-- if your body gives out from a lack of proper nutrition.

That is, unless you're trying to be the sexiest corpse around.


What has your weightloss journey been like? What worked for you? What didn't?


R.S.

On Cloning Myself

Have you ever had one of those days where you realize you're drowning? Maybe not physically, but metaphorically?

I have.

In fact, I've had several, and many of them were this week.

Granted, it's only Tuesday, but there are twenty-four usable hours in every day, and my weeks tend to blend together. The calendar might say Tuesday, but I'm pretty sure it's really Thursday... of next week.

 I'm one of those people who need to constantly be engaged. No, not to a man-- I'm pretty sure my husband would disapprove of that hobby, but mentally. I rarely watch  television or movies because they can't hold my attention for very long, but books I can sit for hours engrossed in.

Why? Because they're engaging. I'm thinking, I'm feeling, I'm actively involved.

This is also true of my 'real' life. My husband has pointed it out--as have others who know me well-- that I tend to overextend myself. I'm not truly happy unless my proverbial plate is so full I can't see around it, and it's threatening to topple over.

How right they are.

Most of the time, this mode of living works well for me. I thrive under the ever changing responsibilities. I grin at the pace, and sleep well at night.

Not always though.

Sometimes, like this last week, the pressure gets to be too much, my heart starts to pound, my head starts to hurt, and I'm afraid the black demon locked inside me is going to escape.

It's a scary thing.

I laden myself down with new and exciting responsibilities; writing a short story, editing and polishing two novels--one YA, one contemporary, a new dog, a summer writing program, shameless self-promotion (that I truly, truly, hate), a training program that requires 90 minutes of working out a day--every day-- numerous blogs, writing groups, and Writers Organizations (RWA, YARWA, SinC, etc) that in order to be useful and worth the yearly dues, need to be used and participated on... the list seems endless, and getting longer.

Days like today, when I feel like I'm drowning, and there is no visible way out of the deep end... I wish I had a clone.

Just not an exact clone.

One who has more patience than I do, is less easily frustrated, and more understanding of her own limitations.

Or maybe I need to learn moderation.

When do you wish you could clone yourself? Or at the very least have more arms?

Speak out. I want to know!

R.S.