This post is going to be a bit of a brain dump about weight and body issues and all that lovely stuff that goes on in my brain.
And it’s not really intended to be fitspo or thinspo or anything else of the inspirational variety, I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on upstairs, that is probably better out than in. (Although I’ve always lusted after a thigh gap but it’s something that I’m never going to have and that’s cool, my body shape just isn’t met for thigh gap.)
In April of 2014 I hit the very exciting weight of 54kg (that’s about 125lbs for you non-metric folk). For me at 165cm (5’ 5”) and my commando-esque body shape, that’s on the lower end of the scale. Actually I’ve only ever been that weight three times – when I was 13yrs old, a couple of months before I got married when I was 25yrs old and last year. It was a good moment when I stepped on the scales and saw that magical figure. I was also in the envious position of no longer fitting into my clothes because they were too big. I celebrated by going out and buying myself a pair of skinny black jeans…in a size 8. I held them up in the store and honestly laughed because they looked so tiny. I thought there was no way I would ever fit into them, but fit into them I did (granted with a bit of jumping!)
I’d been fasting for 3 days a week and exercising about 5 or 6 times a week. I was busy living the ‘single life’ and going out a lot to distract myself from an empty apartment and some confusing relationship thoughts. I felt good and was quite happy with the way I looked. Not that losing weight has ever helped with any of my emotional problems, but at least if I’m not worrying about my weight, that’s one thing less to worry about.
Then I had some comments along the lines of, “You look like you’ve been in a concentration camp.”
So I started eating a bit more and exercising a little less.
In June/July I had climbed back to about 60kg (132lbs) and was filling out my clothes a bit better but it was still a good weight for me to be at.
I felt strong and fit and had some tone in my arms and legs for the first time I could remember. I was still fasting 3 days a week but being a bit looser on the off-fasting days and doing 5 gym classes a week.
Then M and I reconciled and my eating control and gym timetable went out the window.
Then I went to Japan for work in September and I ate myself into oblivion.
Then I went home for 3 weeks and continued eating.
Then I went to Japan again and ate some more.
And now I’m somewhere around 70kg (154lb)…I’m not really sure because weighing myself is entirely too scary. I had to go and buy a whole new wardrobe of clothes because I can’t fit into anything anymore.
I’ve never been waif-like and I’ve always marvelled at Japanese girls and petite women who are fat if they are more than 40kgs, but 70kgs now feels very uncomfortable. I’m extremely self-conscious to the point where I really don’t want to go to the gym or see anyone I haven’t seen for a while because I’m huge.
And I’ve gotten into that depressing cycle of feeling bad about my weight and eating to feel better…yeah…that’s a very bad thing to do.
I’m not blaming anyone but myself for my current situation. No-one forced food into my mouth and no-one said “Don’t go to gym!” I got myself to this point and now I have to haul myself out of it.
And the really funny thing is that I know exactly what I need to do to get back to a comfortable weight, but I just have ZERO self-control at the moment to get there. I know exactly what works long-term for me (fasting and exercise) but I just can’t seem to give two emotional fucks to start doing it.
And I think ALL day EVERY day about my weight and every time I get a glimpse of myself in a mirror or see a reflection in a window I’m horrified but I still can’t make the step to commit and just do it.
I’ve got enough boob that I actually have to wear a bra (and I hate bras…) and so many jiggly bits that I feel squishy and soft and blergh!
Tomorrow we’re going to a play party where I will be butt-ass naked in front of people I haven’t seen for a good four months. I’m dreading my naked jiggly bits much more than the solid beating I’ve been promised.
So, staying true to form, I bought myself copious amounts of chocolate to drown my sorrows and I’ve already scoffed some of it.
Being out of control of myself sucks.
Anyway, now that I’ve got that off my chest, I started training for the marathon in August about two weeks ago. I’ve got a 28 week training schedule to enjoy for the next six months plus so I’ll be writing some more Running Twat posts dealing with such hard-hitting running topics as:
- Should I blow my nose into my gloves?
- Pooing in the bushes – yes or no?
- Blisters – to pop or not to pop?
And I’ve got the very last chapter of Desiderata – that’s chapter sixty-five to be exact – to finish before I go back and do some re-writing and polishing and fussing over the entire story endlessly because I am going to explore the route of publishing. It is a long weekend here so I’m planning on knuckling down and getting that shit down onto the page (sometimes I find cussing to myself helps me get motivated and sometimes pictures of penguins help too.)
So here’s a penguin. May it bring you motivation too.