It's Sunday. 4:30pm. Almost dark outside (thank you very much Daylight Savings Time). I’m sitting here in my apartment in a sports bra and yoga pants, half-watching, half-participating in Billy Blanks: Ab Bootcamp DVD, which I bought at Borders a few days ago. I also bought the 10 Minute Solution: Blast off Belly Fat DVD, which is a series of five 10-minute abdominal workouts. I plan to add a solid 20-30 minute abs workout to the days I run – generally Monday, Wednesday, and Friday – because honestly, I don’t feel like a 30-45 minute run is enough of a workout. Finally, although I have no intention of actually following the diet, I purchased Jillian Michaels' (the super hot, bad ass trainer from the Biggest Loser who I’d totally go lesbian for – not the blond with too many feelings – hey that sounds like me) new book, Making the Cut. Reading diet books is kind of a sick and twisted hobby of mine.
Are we noticing a theme here?
For reasons I can’t articulate, I’ve spent almost a solid week in my fat jeans, the most logical answer to a few days of low self-esteem and body image issues. This doesn’t happen as much as it did before I began running and only worked out (irregularly) to an end goal of weight loss. It wasn’t until training took hold of my life and my goals became bigger (perhaps better) that I realized strong trumps skinny every time. For me, there’s something very satisfying about working out when it’s not just about the lbs.
But lately, I’ve been beating myself down a bit. I haven’t gained weight – in fact, I’ve lost a little, but I feel frumpy. I look in the mirror and think, “Gross.”
I know it’s not right, and it’s not fair to lay on ya’ll (I can almost hear the collective groan). I should be stronger than unrealistic societal norms about the ideal female shape, and love myself and my body no matter what… female empowerment… vote for Hilary … take back the night… hear me roar... blah blah blah.
I feel fat. (There. I said it. How's that for some roarin'?)
I suppose it’s normal every so often to feel a little less than stellar about one’s bod for no reason – no good reason – and I’m coping. And, instead of heading down the usual spiral out-of-control because I feel bad about myself path (read: I am NOT coping with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s), I’ve decided to try a little bit of incentive, which tends not to work for me, but hey, we’ll give it another shot. So, a few weeks ago, I made a deal with TR that if I lost ten pounds by Thanksgiving, he would give me a free, private session in return. Nice. He gets expensive. And I do love me a workout session with TR… if only for the gossip…
We shall see if this motivates.