This has to be one of my favorite quotes. I had seen it on Pinterest, but it brought me more meaning at the Elevate Conference last May, when Ashley talked about blogging truths. She used the quote to reiterate: This [blogging] is not a competition. She was so right, but the quote has stuck with me and has popped up in other areas of my life. Financially, emotionally, and as of late physically.
A year ago, I had just run Color Me Rad. A huge feat for someone who swore on her iPhone that she hated running. Training for Color Me Rad taught me that if I started slow, I could fall in love with running. I may have been running at a snails pace, but I still ran that whole thing, which took me about 30 minutes. The fact that I ran for 30 minutes was cause for celebration, but so was the size of my thighs. The ability to fit in a smaller sized pant. A body that I really liked.
But like most things in my life, I fell off the wagon. I got busy. The rest of my life got in the way, and since there was nothing to "train" for, I let it go. I ran occasionally when I had the chance, but never with the same intensity. Sadly I didn't change my eating habits but, given that I already eat pretty clean, I eat a lot. I can sit down and eat a large piece of chicken, salad, an apple, half an avocado... I could go on, but even writing that here makes me feel pretty gross. It's just I've never been able to control portions. I'm sure this is nothing new to any of you who have fought the weight loss battle before.
So fast forward to June. After a few months sitting at a desk for a part time stint at my seasonal job. Late nights, super early mornings, and the obsession that I had to drop 10 pounds, only to gain 5 instead. I made excuses to avoid exercise, and even when I did, I complained. I let Jillian kick my ass for 2 full weeks before I gave up, promising myself I would get out there and run. I think I ran twice the entire month.
Even when I was prepping for Vegas, I ignored the creeping scale. I ignored the tightness in my shorts. I blamed it on my almost 40 metabolism. I blamed it on not having the time to cook. The hot Fresno summer being too hot to run, or walk or do anything. I blamed everything and everyone except myself.
Hello self. Get your shit together.
My friend Julie started the 10 pounds by 10/10 program on her blog, just about 4 weeks ago. It was a way to motivate us bloggers that were looking for a reason to get moving. For those of us who felt like we needed to drop some pounds. I joined in thinking this was just what I needed. Thinking I would push myself to lose those last 10 pounds that are threatening to ruin fall and jeans weather for me. As of now, I only have one pair that fit. One pair. And it's not the pair that still has the tags on them! So 10 by 10/10 was going to work for me.
But here I am. No obvious changes. I have been working out for 40 minutes 4 mornings a week. I've kind of changed my eating habits by cutting out things like nuts and raisins. I've cut back on the avocados. Added in some more eggs whites and taken out some egg yolks.
Friends, the scale has not budged. My jeans don't fit any better than they did 4 weeks ago. I'm still hungry when I go to bed. And I've been so frustrated.
Then last week I went for my annual exam (blog post to follow on that trip). As I was ushered back to step on the scale, I whined, Do I have to? And the nurse, so sweet and polite, said "If I looked like you, I'd weight myself every day". Perspective can punch you straight in the nose people.
For the stranger that sees me, I'm sure they see a skinny bitch with nothing to complain about. That would be true. However no one knows how tight my jeans and shorts are. No one knows how different my body looks behind closed doors. No one knows how it feels to know, you have let yourself down. But I needed every bit of that comment from my nurse that day. I needed to be reminded that it's not about being skinny, it's about being healthy. It's about feeling good, and moving. Even if you move at a snails pace. It's about acknowledging that bigger jeans aren't the end of the world, even though they feel that way.
That night after my annual, I went for a run. I was surprised that I could run for long periods of time, with little walking breaks in between. It felt great. Just me and the pavement. Music blasting in my ears. And just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, Holy Grail came on. And I pushed myself. Giving it all I had. Because I was tired of comparing myself to a jean size. A portion of food. A picture of a person who is five inches taller than me and 10 years younger.