Maple Syrup, Jam, Celery Juice
At the end of last year, three or four days ago, I realized that it might not be the clothes dryer’s fault that everything was fitting a bit more snuggly than when originally purchased. Particularly since I haven’t worn anything requiring buttoning or zippering in months, this realization was slightly alarming.
It’s one thing for the fit of woven materials to ebb and flow, like the tides, the moon, and all of nature. However, when stretchy leggings and baggy sweatpants finally sound the alarm that perhaps there is an intake/output imbalance I must reconcile myself to the reality that it’s gone further than the relatively easy 1-2lb holiday swing.
If I want to de-bulk, it’s going to take some reprogramming, over time, to return to the physical state I once thought of as not good enough, but this year, today, I’m thinking of as “back in shape.”
And so, as a feminist, former anorexic, non-body shaming type person, I will admit a few things: A) I’m vain. I like to look good in clothes and good, for me, in my head usually means 5-10lbs lighter than whatever I am at the time. B) I’m aware and concerned about feeling good in my body and also being able to run around and play and feel energetic for a long time. C) I really really have enjoyed reintegrating french fries and bread into my diet during quarantine. Also potato chips. Also french toast. With maple syrup AND jam.
The size large sweatpants I got in October and almost returned because they were too big did in fact shrink a bit ... but that was right away. Today they are definitely snug in the bootie and kind of rolling down off where I still have kind of a waist, but there’s a lot of tummy there too.
It could be the french fries. It could be the bread - even though a lot of it has been “whole grain”. It could be the starting my day with french toast, sitting meditation and zoom rather than celery juice, yoga, and walks.
When I really look at what I’m doing, it’s not that mysterious or complicated. How my internal dialog runs about it is preposterous, if I really listen to the thoughts running in the background. “Whyyy? Whyyy? How could this have happened???? I try to be so good I was so good for so long and then Thanksgiving — that’s when I let it all go — It’s Mike and his damn quinoa risotto pushing! Why can’t Ax finish his dang pasta or scrape his plate why does he leave half of it on the counter, basically begging me to eat his tasty tasty leftovers. How am I supposed to walk around getting cardio when there’s a global crisis? I blame the virus. I guess I’m just a fat fatty now. A fatter fat fatty. Maybe acceptance is the answer.”
That voice makes it seem like I’ve never been here before, on an upswing. I’ve been here before. It could be way worse. I could choose to keep doing what I’ve been doing and get bigger sweatpants or go back to what I was doing, pre-virus but safely, gently and with love, and “get back in shape.” The formerly too fat/not acceptable shape that is now the aspirational shape. I’m not 20, but I’m not dead either. I’m gonna keep going.
www.livingeveryminuteofit.com
www.combatcovidstress.com
