Failing myself

Okay, after much encouragement from all of you, through a couple of comments and several emails, I'm going to start putting a little more of myself out there in my blog, even if it isn't very pretty sometimes. Here is the perfect example:

I frequently fail myself. For some reason, whenever I set myself a goal, particularly about my weight, I do something within the first few days to sabotage myself. Being my present weight and size, I often ponder losing weight frequently (I know few women, regardless of their weight and size, who don't). But as my father often says, "until the pain of changing becomes less than the pain of staying the same, you won't change." So let's discuss some of the "pain of staying the same" that has been inflicted on me lately.

Point #1: I realized that I am now, officially, at my full-term pregnant weight. And I'm not pregnant. And if I ever intend to be pregnant again (still not sure on that point), something has to be done. Part of why I was so quiet last week is that I thought I might be (I'm not!), and it scared the crap out of me for a zillion reasons, not the least of which was my weight. I swore after Luke was born that if we *ever* did that again, I was going to be lighter. And then what did I do? Promptly gain 30+ pounds. Maybe that was partly my screwed-up psychological way if saying I'm not ready for another baby, but should another baby find me before I'm ready, I'd better at least be significantly lighter when the time comes. And given how far I have to go to even get under 200 lbs, I'd better start now.

Point #2: I read something on Patti's blog that really convicted me. Let me see if I can find it. Oh, it was actually a link to the Yarn Harlot's blog. Here is the quote: "many of us will die of our excess, while others, as worthy and hardworking as we are, will remain so very poor that they will die of it." If that doesn't smack you in the gut (literally and figuratively), nothing will.

Point #3: I'm 30. Metabolism slows down and all that, and losing the weight only gets harder A) as you get older and B) the longer you've been at your current weight. But here's the bigger point: my grandfather had a heart attack at age 31. Now, granted, he smoked like a chimney (hey, it was the 1950s, and he was in the military, but still). He also developed adult-onset diabetis and died in his mid-60s when I was 19. In my mid-60s, Luke will be a little older than I am now. How could I set myself up to leave him when he's still so young (in his 30s), if not sooner? I don't want that, any of that, to be me. I'll be 31 in six months.

Point #4: Luke. I don't want him to remember me this way. He's starting to get old enough that he might remember things from this age, and this is not what I want him to remember. I don't want him to be teased in school for having the super-fat mom. I don't want to be uncomfortable at school functions in the auditorium because I can't fit in the seats. I don't want to be the mom who never takes her kid to the water park because she doesn't want to get into a bathing suit. I want to be the mom who got out and played with her son, who swam in the pool with him because he asked her to, and who he remembers being confident and proud of who she is. And I am, most of the time, just not about this.

Point #5: And this is the one that is kicking my rear end today and prompting this post. My 10th wedding anniversary is in 18 months. When the hell did I get old enough to be married for almost 10 years? And I wasn't exactly thin then, either (size 18). So I did the math. In those 10 years, I have averaged gaining 10 pounds a year. Essentially a pound a month for every single solitary month we have been married. He says he doesn't care; he says he still desires me. And for the most part, I believe him. But wouldn't it be awesome, come our 10th wedding anniversary, to be at least the same size I was when we married? How many women can say that? That they could still wear their wedding dress 10 years later? Now granted, most of the time, that's because they were at their fittest and skinniest for their wedding. But still, a size 18 is dramatically better than my current size 26. My doctor would be ecstatic, and my family (particularly family I don't see often) would be floored. My brother lost a bunch of weight when he was in college. My mom lost a bunch of weight when I was in college (apparently I found everything she lost, and then some). It is my turn now.

So I set a goal for myself: Size 18 in 18 months. That's 4 dress sized (yes, 26-18=8, but the sizes go up by 2, so it's really only 4). It's not unreasonable. I should be able to do it, if I work at it. Smaller would be awesome, but at least a size 18 is my goal. I don't really have a set plan at the moment, but at least working out every day while coming up with an eating plan would be a good start. I decided this sometime yesterday afternoon. I will be the woman I was when I got married by the time I celebrate 10 years. I wasn't even going to talk about it on my blog until I had some actual progress to show.

And then I failed myself, not even 24 hours later. I didn't work out this morning or at lunch today, and I just drank a Coke. Not a Diet Coke, but the one full of sugar and caffiene. Granted, I don't drink them often, but I wanted one, so I just reached into the fridge and drank it, without the slightest thought of "put it down!" entering my head. How is that possible? I was so ready yesterday, and here I sit, staring at the empty can. Maybe I should carry it around with me as a token of my shame.

Yes, there is always tomorrow. As they said in Anne of Green Gables, "tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it." I will do better tomorrow. I have to, or this is never going to work. No one is perfect, we all make mistakes, yadda yadda yadda. But how many more times am I going to have to fail myself before I actually, FINALLY, make the necessary changes? I guess we'll find out. Here's to a better tomorrow.
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