“These used to fit…”
That conversation you have with yourself in between sucking the air out of your stomach while trying to Glad Bag yourself into those boot-legged slacks that caressed your derrière oh so perfectly just a few months earlier. Yeah, I’ve been there. I began to notice my increasingly infuriating struggle to get dressed in the morning, made all the more distressing by the rush to be on time, which was in turn aggravated by dishonorable sleeping patterns. After finally realizing Aunt Flo and the bloatedness that comes with, could no longer be to blame, I came to terms with the truth: I had gained a lot (define a lot?) weight. And I didn’t like.
I’ve had underlying body issues before, I mean, who hasn’t. But my growing ennui had hit a new-found high. Shopping’s not as enjoyable; the real tragedy. I joke. No, the real tragedy is not feeling as good about yourself as you used to, being ashamed to be photographed, maintaining ill-advised dietary habits, or cringing each time you pass a reflective surface (mirrors especially). This story: will it remain a tragedy or end triumphant? I’m working on that. I bought a while back to jump-start my get-up-and-go. I’m still waiting for it to kick in. I get it in bouts that last a few days at a time, where I kick all my habits of lethargy in the ass and get my shit together. I know what I should and should not be doing, the problem is that it’s easier to do nothing at all.
I’m ever so slowly taking steps to make myself feel good again. Ever. So. Slowly. I need to find the combination of exercise, eating habits and general excellency that works for me. I want to take up yoga again and going to the gym on the regular. But these things take time. A friend told me the other day that it takes 21 days for something to become routine. Today is Day 3.
I’ll keep you posted.