Something’s been weighing me down.
Not too long ago, I sat down and wrote out my big 5 goals for the rest of 2013.
On that list were two that I’m thinking about this week. I mentioned in my last post that I crossed part of my CrossFit/training goals off my list when I Rx’d Fran the other day.
Also on that list was a weight loss goal (15lbs, specifically).
Forgive me for forgetting if I blogged about this or not, but a month or so ago I went to the doctors and was weighed.
And I lost my shit.
The number was higher than it has been in years, and when my doctor busted out his BMI app and promptly informed me that I was overweight, I lost shit I didn’t even know I had.
My doctor tried assuring me that while I was a little overweight now, the fact that I’d gotten my period back somewhere during the last 20 of the 50lbs I’d gained suggested that I might be close to my “ideal” weight. He figured out that if I lost 15lbs, I’d be back in the “healthy range” but might still be at a level that would support menstruation.
I took this to mean that I needed to lose 15lbs.
I took it to mean that I had taken things too far.
I took it to mean that I was too fat.
So I cried more.
For about a week.
And then I bought a scale.
I talked about what I thought weighing myself would do with a lot of the important people in my life, and I took on the perspective that by not weighing myself, I was blanking out. I told myself that knowing where my weight was at was empowering and that I needed to get real and stop blanking out on what was going on with my body.
Thank god a woman’s prerogative is to change her mind, because I couldn’t be more certain that that idea was wrong.
Scales are for fish.
Blanking out isn’t not knowing how much my body weighs.
Blanking out is thinking that just because the scale is going down, I’m “okay” or I’m “getting away with things.”
Consciousness isn’t knowing how much I weigh, it’s having the integrity to look at what I’m doing and to judge myself based on whether or not I’m taking good care of myself—regardless of what that does to my weight or appearance.
The reality is, it’s tougher to look at our actions and to own up to whether or not we’re really living in line with what we know is healthy than it is to justify our “bad” behaviours based on the fact that we have a body that fits some picture of “healthy” or “fit” that we’ve created (or that’s been created for us, but that’s a whole different can of worms). It’s tougher to admit that your body, at its healthiest, might not look like one from a crossfit girls photo.
The gem here is that our actions are what matters, not what our bodies look like or how they measure up.
To be healthy, do healthy things.
I know what I’ve been doing is working (making me healthy), not “working” (making me look “healthy”) because I’ve been under regular chiropractic care for almost a year and it’s pretty cool to see the progress I’ve made there. I had three periods in a row for the first time in over five years—I’m a girl again! My hormones are not perfect, but they’re coming back to normal. I am the strongest I’ve ever been. I realize that exercise is about building up my body, not punishing myself or burning off food or proving my self worth. I eat more real food than ever before and can actually feel my hunger cues, identify foods that don’t agree with my body, and know that eating is about meeting nutrient requirements, plain and simple.
Ideal is as ideal does. My ideal isn’t some arbitrary number that puts me in a “healthy” range on a chart. I know I’m healthy when I’m doing healthy things. My weight/BMI and even my body composition are side effects. The only thing that focusing on these does is serve to drive me batshit crazy.
It looks like I’m crossing two goals off my list this week.
I feel lighter already.