If you follow along you know I am on a weight loss quest. This has been one of the hardest, defeating, least rewarding battles I’ve ever fought. The amount of effort I’ve put into it compared to the subsequent results is laughable.
I’ve gone from ‘I’m going to do this’ to ‘Nothing’s going to stop me even an unmoving scale’ to ‘Screw you I won’t be beaten’. Only I might be beaten. My body is breaking down under the stress. As I type this I am a knot of lactic acid buildup, soreness, creaking bones, aching back and knees. I can’t eat any less and I can’t exercise any more. Well I could exercise more but no one pays me millions of dollars just to look good. I could probably eat less but again undiluted starvation is a hard sell when this is a pure vanity project.
I know time changes the way a body responds to any of these things. And I, like many women, cry the laments of a time when weight loss meant skipping one meal and dropping double digit pounds. (And yes, I realize the struggle is even harder for others.) It’s sobering that after 6 months I’ve barely shaved off 10lbs. All of this is narcissism, a goal to hit before I hit a certain age where I’m certain I won’t ever be able to get back to a random weight from my past that means nothing to the true context of my life. Still I’m trying.
This quest has gone from green meadows to grassy hills to the rocky terrain. I’m on a jagged, icy shelf with little vision for my goals and wondering what I’m doing. Who knew my vapid goals were leading to this kind of barren place? The air is thin up here and bringing some clarity. It’s telling me what I want may not happen and killing myself for it is a sign of arrogance and smallness. It’s telling me to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see.
Something I was never able to do even at a weight I’d killed to be at again. I drank the kool aide and wrapped self worth up in these things a long time ago. Outside influences haven’t hurt in objectifying me on these basis, confirming the idea of the value of me by way of aesthetic. (I say ‘me’ as a call to many if not all women. We’ve all dealt with the same stuff.) Now can I break decades, centuries, of influence?
Who knew this vanity project would become another step on the path to enlightenment?