Screw it all.
Isn’t that title super lady-like? I thought so. Very klassy.
But that’s how I feel about this whole diet/weight thing lately. I feel like as women, we’ve been trapped into a vicious cycle of diet, celebrate, binge, regret, and repeat. Our whole lives. And we put everything on hold until we “get there”. Thinner, toner, tanner.
And I’m tired of it.
I decided to make some changes that would help stop the cycle that isn’t doing me any good. Things that don’t usually = progress.
I canceled my Weight Watchers membership. Not because it doesn’t help, but because I wasn’t really using it and then I would feel guilty for not. And that guilt led to a cookie to help me think it over. All I could think of after was, “How many points was that cookie?” And knowing I blew it, I’d have another. Because why not?
I bought a BOB for jogging. Yes, I know I wrote Stroller Snobs. But I did have my reasons behind this, and I didn’t get the ’11 model (holy wow those are expensive and I didn’t see much of a difference). I needed one that was lightweight. My current one was around 35lbs.
So after I bought it, I’ve gone walking/jogging with it almost everyday. It’s worth it. And I do not give anyone dirty looks. My car is a KIA so let’s not get all hoity.
I’m buying a bathing suit because I booked a hotel in Georgia that has a pool. And it’s been (muffled) years since I’ve been in a bathing suit because I always have to lose weight. The other day I sat thinking about how I needed to lose more before I bought one, and it hit me:
I’m never going to lose enough.
Even as a size 6 I didn’t feel comfortable in one. So it’s either get my mom flab into it and have some fun, or keep waiting ’till I can’t wear one anyway because I’m confined to a wheel chair at age 90. I might weigh 118 at that point but let’s face it – no one around me will care because they’re all half blind too.
It’s not that I’m learning “self acceptance” or to “love my body”, because I still am not a fan of muffin toppin’ it in jeans or my chunky arms. But it’s now or never. I’ve waited most of my life to have a bikini body so I can get in the pool. Go for a run. Wear cute skirts. Not feel ill as I browse through bathing suits.
And who cares? Who am I so worried about? Some random person at the pool? What are they going to do, scream at my cellulite and run away clawing their eyes out? Call CPS for endangering my child by showing her porky thighs?
(This is where you assure me that, no indeed, this won’t happen)
I’m tired of being trapped by my own self consciousness and fears. So even if I don’t like what I see in the mirror, it needs to not matter anymore. Because in 10 years? I’m not going to like it either. But at least I’ll know that it didn’t hold me back from looking the best I could at that moment. I’m going to run and swim and eat – and deal with it while I do.
Screw it. I may not have 3 inches of air between my legs as I walk, but I’m also not setting any small fires with the friction. So that’s got to count for something.