Between cheap dinners out
with the new boo, a very stressful and time-consuming new job (and the
thousands of Goldfish consumed weekly to keep me on my feet), and all the
yoga-defying illnesses my little petri dishes have passed me on their homework
assignments in the past nine months, I’ve noticed that my clothes have been
getting tighter. Like, a lot
tighter. As in, I find myself wincing as
I take off particularly unforgiving dresses at the end of the day – dresses
which, nine months ago, fit just fine, or were even a bit baggy at the
waist. And now I’m faced with a dilemma
I haven’t faced in years: how to lose bulk, if not necessarily weight.
If you’ve been reading this
blog (or known me personally) for the few years, you know that I am majorly
anti-dieting. And if you’ve known me for
the past decade, you might recall that the last time I succumbed to societal
pressure and tried to lose weight, through a strict-but-realistic calorie limit and exercise plan, I gained weight, then lost that, then lost three more pounds, then plateaued for the rest of the year. I was stronger, and more toned,
but my weight remained pretty much the same.
And the really bad news was that I drove myself (and my boyfriend at the
time) bonkers with my constant
obsession over what I was eating. So
after that little experiment I vowed that I’d proven to myself (and in theory
anyone else who gave a damn) that my weight was insistent upon staying within
the same 20-pound range and if that was the case I needed to stop worrying at
all about calories and focus all my energy on balanced nutrition and an active
lifestyle. And I did that, and for the
most part it worked; I was heavier or lighter depending on the month, but
overall I was the same size (12) for years.
And then, almost exactly
three years ago, my life imploded, and I stopped eating and stopped moving and
lost 25 pounds and dropped to a biggish 10/very small 12. I looked great – incessant tears and suicidal
thoughts are a much better diet plan than Jenny Craig – but I felt awful. That weight stayed off for around a year,
while I dated and found yoga but still cried every morning when I woke to the
same life I’d been blissfully allowed to forget in sleep. And then, slowly, I began to recover. And as I recovered, I put the weight back on,
also slowly. By the time I met my
current boyfriend last January I was back to my normal weight and a solid,
healthy size 12 again.
But then. All the things I mentioned in paragraph one –
the thai food, the cuddles, the teaching, the stress, the lack of time for
regular yoga, the lack of time or
energy for cooking healthy meals – it all caught up with me. And now I’m struggling to feel good about how
I look in the mirror, missing my erstwhile-flat belly, and beginning to worry
about fitting into the same clothes I’ve been wearing for years with little
issue. And the new boo and I are going
to Europe for over a month this summer and I would like to wear my denim
shorts, thankyouverymuch, but as
things stand they are very
uncomfortable (although they still button, thank god).
So what do I do? I’ve been making a concerted effort to get to
yoga at least once a week, but that’s not enough and I can’t fit in more with
my job the way it is. I’ve bought a
fancy/pretty fitness tracker, but with my job way out in suburbia hell I rarely
get an opportunity to walk for more than five minutes at a time (although I do often
stand while lecturing rotten children on proper behavior). I’m trying to eat fewer carbs and less
processed food, but Goldfish and chocolate are still the only things that get
me through most school days. I could go
on a diet, but I HATE DIETS. I hate
being on them and I hate being around people who are on them. They are a fucking BUMMER and they don’t even work for me.
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