Will weight and see

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I am trying to lose weight. Again.

pic credit : Woman by africa, freedigitalphotos.net

It's not like I've ever stopped and it's not like I've succeeded long term. I've maintained a constant personal range since my late teens. I've only ever overshot it when I had my children, and went really low when I lost weight unhealthily once. That comforting padding took me through many significant moments and many forgettable (but hard to forget) moments in my life. Comforting because, in my mind, that's really me. I've never been anyone else. That one disastrous time I tried, my hair fell out and my teeth developed micro cavities in them. I can safely say that I do not know the person who will weigh just what the health charts recommend as normal. I don't even know if I am ready to meet her.

"But you think that you don't consume a whole lot. Keep a diary and you'll see just how many careless calories go into making that body."

I've heard that so many times. So I did keep a diary for all of three days and quite seriously, I made under 1500 calories. Which can't be healthy. But I don't stuff my face. I have eaten to stuff my feelings when I was younger. And luckily, that practice did not grow old with me. I ascribe it to youthful idiocy. The one thing I cannot do is to exercise every day. Oh I've done it for six months at a stretch. Sooner or later, some little thing throws me off and I never quite get the momentum going again.

My ever insightful sibling said, "Maybe you really don't see yourself as skinny."

Naturally I had to counter with useless self-defense, "That's ridiculous. I've never been skinny. How do I see myself that way? And what does that have to do with weight loss?"

My preposterously skinny sibling said, "Well, what exactly are you going to work toward then? If you haven't given it thought yet, then no wonder you're going no where. You run and jog and stretch and lift away, everyday, with no idea of what you want of your body."

Woefully patting my well padded sides, I declared, "I do know what I want! I want to be HEALTHY!"

Sipping his avocado juice, he took a minute. That usually means that he's attempting niceness which he's straining his "charity chest" to dispense. "You are healthy. You just don't like the way you look, which is, frankly, the biggest problem here."

"Being thirty pounds overweight is not healthy!"

He gave up. But then, I don't have anything major. Yet. I've seen bigger people remain blissfully healthy into old age, and skinny types riddled with health concerns. But the fact really is that I cannot accept the way I look.

Him does mind. I can tell. Well, getting real here, he's told me too. In "Him style" which does involve helping yourself to a heaping tablespoon of salt, while he delivers his thoughts with the tact he imagines he has.

Hmm...snarky there. But he's seen me try and discard numerous clothes because the size on the tag didn't seem to have anything to do with my real proportions. He's seen me absolutely loathe shopping because it is a tedious process for me. I find clothes alright. But not the way I like them.

So what has me so complacent? I wonder and I block that instinctive knowing that we all have. I block it because...

Because I really am terrified of getting there for some reason! I don't understand why anyone would be afraid of reaching a better place.

But then, I did say that I've never been any other way.

I looked up spiritual reasons for obesity. Some of it made sense. The fat padding as an insulation against hurt and more reasons along that vein. I didn't have any serious trauma in my childhood. It was a wonderful childhood. But I was sensitive. Enough that a bit of bad news in the daily paper would render me sleepless for days on end. That sensitivity is certainly an issue. I've spent a lot of time alone, trying to be quiet, surrounding myself with quiet because I just can't take conflict. And high strung types. And anyone spoiling for a good fight. Maybe it is my emotional makeup.

Maybe it's nothing but me needing to get off my behind. But then again, I'm moderately active through the day. It's difficult to be inactive with two kids and a husband in the house.

I tell my mother that she might as well think of my brother and me as "Laurel and Hardy." Because he is that tall and skinny, and while I'm not that short, I'm certainly chubby. I think that sibling Laurel was right. I don't know about where I'm headed. No clear sense of direction save the reducing digits on my weighing machine. That rarely tells the whole story. It does tell the most important part.

I have no idea what she'll be like. That skinny woman I hope to become. I don't know if I can accept her and feel comfortable in her skin. I don't know if I can look in the mirror and know that she and I are one. Even as I write this, I can feel my heart holding back, pulling back from possibilities. I don't understand it.

But perhaps that's part of the challenge. To make it happen and wonder about the why's and wherefores later. To ensure that I reach my slimmer self, and work through the hurt all that fat pads up so nicely. Or the laziness or the indulgence. Just to push through it. And get to the other side.

So yeah, I'm back at it now. A new fangled routine full of the latest in weight loss science, a truckload of quick, metabolism boosting routines, a determination to eat every two-three hours and a miasma of hope and trepidation.

Wish me luck!

Image credit : Woman by africa, www.freedigitalphotos.net;