Weight. And it matters.

I am 155 lbs. 

I know dissent responses well :  Weight doesn't matter, you don't LOOK like you do, that's not that much weight, the scale doesn't matter, clothes sizes don't matter, pictures don't matter,  etc.

 

And yet, this is the heaviest I have ever been.  The extra pounds sneaked in such a silent way that nothing fits now, nothing, and all at once.  I was forced (ha I love me some shopping) to buy almost an entirely new wardrobe.  The necessary spree seemed to me overnight and with almost little to no resources, and motivation. Why can't clothes grow, too.

 
 

For seven almost eight months now:

 

re-invigorated my exercise routine.

consulted my Dr. about Thyroid issues.

attempted and succeeded at trying and completing 4 eating plans.

taken multiple "before" pictures for motivation

made a vision board. 

read books on Atkins, South Beach, Carb Cycling, Paleo and Gluten Free Options. 

continually eat 6 small meals a day. 

stopped soda and refined sugars.

taken gym clothes with me to work and attempt to sneak in cardio sessions midday. 

A little excessive and a one point had three gym memberships. 

read weight lifting techniques on fitness blogs

studied their expert tips, make lists and then try new things etc.

 

 

This could could continue --for now eight months worth-- as a tedious task list of attempts to shed my new plumpness... much to my vain chagrin these pounds are here to stay.

 

And I admit, I still view myself as a 'petite' girl.  In my head.  For all intensive purposes I still find myself at Nordstrom RACK looking at small's... so very funny.  I don't always feel huge.  Until I hug a friend, take a picture or forget that something in my closet is from... back when.  It's strange really! 

 

Only at dinner with a girlfriend and her talking to a most hipster waiter who had very little interest in talking to me, as a person let alone a conquest--I realized: 

 

My weight can now serve as the ultimate litmus test.

 

I am not in the current Utah, fashionable, thin single girl, down town dwelling "ideal." 

 

I am just me.  A little bigger than I want, than I find ideal.  But who's to say this extra has to be a curse?

 Why am I accepting of others, at any size, but feel I belong in some damned category every time I fluctuate?

 

Do I judge a "man" if he is 10, 20, lbs overweight, not "sculpted" or perfectly proportionate? 

Why no.

 

Normally I gravitate towards someone less extreme looking in their fitness ventures.  This is good news! I am attracted to those that are not so ripped, tanned, and tailored.  I have now philosophized the logic in THAT man would also prefer a woman that isn't perfectly svelte, or lean and starved. I don't expect some bachelor model and he is relieved to know that personal fitness is not my number one priority either.  Which is honest, which is true.

 

I went from feeling awkward, depressed, fat (is this an emotion?) out of place, not acceptable and rejected to feeling overjoyed, grateful and confident!  I am a bigger, curvy, "average"(ha), healthy, above average, voluptuous, womanly, strong, built, roundish lady.  And who's to say I need to reject myself the way that very slight, pretentious waiter would reject any of my sisters that are struggling with ANYTHING.  My struggle is currently displayed on my petite (5'5") frame.  For the world to see, reject, disagree with, encourage and also give their two cents on how fitness should really be done.  Don't work harder Sara, work smarter.  Fortunately I could teach a class on what should be done, how I should create my body to be an engine designed to burn calories and melt to nothing.  I have done this before successfully. 

 

Perhaps my emotional hesitation this time around is this inner voice that says, "Sara, focus on other things."  So that is what I am doing.  I am washing my hands... er my body, of these pounds. 

 

I am loved, I work hard, I love others... and most especially them curvy girls.