I had my yearly women's health exam the other day and no, I still haven't made an appointment to follow up on my cholesterol. I did get the regular blood pressure/height/ weight vitals and all of those except one looked good except one. I bet you can guess which one made me cringe a whole lot. Let me tell just how dumb it is that I am slightly depressed about my weight. I now weigh what I did when I was with Chris. Exactly. When I reached a hundred and seventy five pounds after being one ninety, one eighty, I thought this was the smallest I would ever be and I was happy. I was content with that weight. I was even comfortable in that weight. I felt good about myself. Now I go to put on a pair of jeans and the either won't button at all or they are tight and uncomfortable and I get mad because those jeans were not cheap.
I've taken to wearing pants I can do yoga in all the time. In fact, I was in Target the other day looking at pants and the first thing I asked myself was "Does it have an elastic waste band?" The second thing I asked myself was "Can I do you yoga in them?" The answer to both of those seemed like a yes, so I bought the pants without trying them on. They're wide legged pants made of a light denim. I tried them on when I got home. Then I realized I'd just bought the most unflattering pair of pants for my body. I said "fuck it!" and put on a flowing top, which just made me look like a beach ball. I don't care because I got on my mat and they were very comfortable while running though all the sun salutations.
Which brings me to my next point or tangent or gripe. I'm not sitting around like a lump all day. I've been wearing this Up band, tracking my steps and sleep and sometimes even my food, for over a year now. The goal is ten thousand steps and for the most part I crush that goal with over twelve thousand steps a day. I am on my yoga mat daily and I even push myself to do things like forearm plank for a whole sixty seconds at a time. I do four of those at least! I can walk up four flights of stairs without wheezing or something on my body hurting. I don't know about five because I never have a need to go up to the fifth floor. The point is, this body is fit. It's strong. It can bend itself into a pretzel. There is nothing wrong with this body. Except for the ten extra pounds of fat centered around my belly button.
When I told Michael about my weight, he said it's because I'm no longer single. "What? You want to go back to eating like you did when you were single?" He's under the impression that all I ever ate for dinner where sleeves of crackers, which isn't true. I cooked evening meals for myself so I'd at least have a healthy lunch the next day. Really, that hasn't changed. The only difference I can see between eating when I was single and now is that I probably eat more than two meals on Saturday and Sundays. I don't understand how not being single means adding ten pounds to my body. Maybe I'm just fooling myself into thinking that I should be any smaller. Maybe it's time to let go of the things in my closet that are too small and just accept that this is the size I am. I was happy there at one point in my life. The whole "I was happy" part sort of echoes in my brain. Then, because I am my own worst critic, I call myself a loser for giving up. I fit in those clothes once! By golly, I can fit my ass into them again. And if I toss them and go up a size, what's stopping me from going up another size and another? What if I finally manage to get it all under control and I tossed all my size smaller pants? Then I have to go buy more pants. it is the dumbest slippery slope.
I hate pants and I'm just about over this Upband tracking device.