It’s finally March and spring is definitely in the air. The weather in my neck of the woods has been really nice and I am so ready to ditch my heavy winter coat. This morning, I did just that. As I was slipping into my lighter, more stylish spring trench, I was slapped in the face with a cruel, harsh reality. It. Would. Not. Button. True life: my coat doesn’t fit. I realized what I feared to be true and what that nagging voice in the back of my head has been screaming at me since the beginning of 2018. Girl, you have gained a few. Let’s be honest, more than a few if I can’t button my trench. Simply put: I love food and large portion sizes. As it turns out, I also love a glass of wine, beer and the occasional cocktail. What I don’t love is going to the gym. I just don’t. Life has been busy, it has not been a priority and I’d just rather be…doing anything else.
I could make excuses. I could feed you a line about how I’ve been extremely stressed, had a baby (sorry Mom, I did not) or broke my leg playing intramural basketball, but none of it would be true. The cold hard fact is that I have been shoveling chips and guac into my pie hole by the fist-full for a good solid six weeks and that kind of out of control behavior has got to stop. So, I signed up for Weight Watchers this morning. It’s time to get serious because clearly whatever I am eating is not doing my waistline any favors. Also, if it’s good enough for Oprah, it’s good enough for me.
It is also worth noting that I have made significant mental progress as it relates to my weight. If this would have happened a year ago, I would be spazzing out and in the middle of a total mental breakdown, sobbing on my kitchen floor with full blown Alice Cooper eyes. The truth is, I have been dieting since high school. That’s right, high school. I lost about 20 pounds around my junior year and then proceeded to yo-yo my way through college. I was pretty thin in my mid 20’s, although I had horrible eating habits and stepped on the scale daily. I was constantly chasing a smaller number on the scale. If I could just get down to this certain number, I would be happier. If I was down two pounds, I was on cloud nine. But if I was up two pounds, it was the end of the world. Another bout of yo-yoing continued into my 30’s. It wasn’t a huge swing of 50 pounds, but yo-yoing nonetheless. Then I got engaged to a man who could literally care less about the number that appears when I step onto that disgusting day ruiner.
I have since learned that I am one of those people who gains weight when I’m happy. In those moments, I don’t care so much about my weight or the scale. In those moments, I’m truly enjoying life and definitely not paying attention to what I’m shoveling into my mouth two at a time. Trust me when I say if I eat an entire row of Samoa Girl Scout cookies, it is because I’m celebrating the pure joy that is caramel, chocolate and coconut combined.
I really hesitated to share this with you today. Not to worry, this blog is not about to become a weight loss diary, but I know a lot of us share the same struggles in life. So to those that can relate – you are not alone. It happens to the best of us. Maybe you’ve gained a few pounds. SO WHAT!?! Haven’t we all from time to time? You have two choices – own it or get back on the wagon! I’ll still love you no matter you decide.
Just for fun, here’s an example of what I have been eating.
See ya next time.
-The Chic(ish) Chick