Thursday, January 05, 2017
So around what was it, March or April last year I was getting comfortable with the idea that I'd met my weightloss goal and entered the maintenance phase.
It was absolutely surreal after two years of hard work and even wearing size 4 pants and looking at numbers on the scale I still couldn't really wrap my head around being a 'skinny' person.
Well, then the rest of 2016 happened. We moved, my kid didn't handle it well, my dogs didn't handle it well, my husband didn't handle it well. Work made huge changes that left me scrambling to keep up, the horrible mess that was the elections, extended family drama, etc etc. Running started hurting more, and it the hurt would linger for days after. My clothes started fitting weird and I knew I was gaining weight.
When I knew we would be moving, and I came to terms with losing my garage workout space (there were definitely tears), I made sure to find a gym that was in walking distance to our new place. I know myself, and I know that if I have to drive anywhere it's going to be a struggle; I haaaaate driving. So why set myself up to fail?
There was a definite learning curve for me going to the gym. I felt self-conscious and nervous about working out. And that sucked. I absolutely loved having my own workout space with no worries about how loud I was singing or how ridiculous I looked trying out a new youtube workout video. Or how tight my running shorts are and how I perceived my flub would stick out. It used to be an important part of my introvert self-care, and now it's one more social situation I have to deal with.
I'd like to say that I got over all of that but I haven't. Some of it has gotten better: I've made friends and I've tried out all sorts of classes. But it's not the comfortable routine I had that worked so well.... and I honestly don't look forward to working out like I used to. Classes are fun, but actual calorie burn depends on the instructor being consistent. The moment I get a home workout space back I'm dropping my gym membership, but this is what I have now and I'm trying to make the best of it.
Last week I stepped on the scale for the first time since May (I finally got around to changing the batteries, lol) and pulled out the tape measure. I was up 10lbs and almost 3 inches everywhere. So that sucks.
But it could be worse. I still fit in my clothes so at least I don't have to buy a whole new wardrobe again. Objectively it's not a big deal, not even really a big gain. But I've never really been able to be objective about my weight- no matter how hard I try.
In July I started going back to therapy to help deal with it all and things started getting better. There was no dramatic turning point, no huge revelations. Just better coping mechanisms, a better vocabulary to communicate with my loved ones.
My home life has evened out (my kid is 13 so I'm not sure how long that will be the case). I got a raise at work. I'm going back to school- for fun. We've started donating to a few new charities to do our part to support groups that will be impacted by what's happening here in the US. I've started embracing cycling workouts and lower-body strength training that doesn't put pressure through my hips. I'm back to logging and measuring food like I used to, and holding myself accountable for everything I put in my mouth.
Today I hopped on the scale and was pleasantly surprised.
I've been here before so I know how to do it, and even better: I know it *can* be done.
In a few weeks I'm going in for scans of my hip for something my doctor says is a "repetitive stress injury that causes acute inflammation" in my hip, which doesn't mean a whole lot to me but we'll see. Fingers crossed!