For me, That ends today. Blaming my weight issues on my decision to quit smoking, chronic depression, and chronic pain is just denying that *I* made the decision to use food and illness as excuses. I want to play with my nephew without getting winded. I want to be able to wear some of my favorite clothes again. Above all, I just want to be healthier. Until these last several years, the biggest I'd ever gotten was about 168 (my weight when I joined the Navy in 2007). The scale this morning read 205. I just can't justify blaming not smoking, whacked-out hormone levels, et cetera, et cetera. I'm done making excuses. Seeing some of Tyler and Henry's updates on their journey has made me wonder that if these two can get up each day and work towards losing several hundred pounds each, then what's my excuse for continuing to sit on my own fat ass, complain about how big it's gotten, but still do nothing about it? My goal is a lot easier to achieve than theirs, and yet they are WAY ahead of me. Even Cindy and Justine's journeys couldn't keep the fire under my ever-expanding ass lit. Even formerly "fat" celebrities like Kelly Osbourne failed to inspire me enough to actually do something and stick with it.
So why now? Almost four years of complaining and half-assing, and now I finally have that fire lit. And it boils down to a clothing purchase: I bought a damned maternity top. Why? Because plus size clothes suck, and maternity clothes are more flattering. It doesn't help that certain clothes I already own and wear make me look pregnant, so I figured, "What the hell, why not?" Then I got home from Target, and it hit me:
Buying one top made me realize how much I've grown to dislike clothes shopping for myself, an activity I'd previously enjoyed very much. Then I thought about the closet full of hundreds of dollars worth of clothes that I'd spent hours contemplating in the stores, sometimes going back multiple times before making a purchase. Then there's all the shoes I can no longer wear because the extra weight widened my feet. And a drawer full of lingerie that I don't even want to see myself in, let alone subject my husband to. And the four bathing suits? Yup, they aren't getting any use, either. Evening/cocktail dresses? Good thing I don't do anything that fancy. Ah, the tote of costumes. There's a reason I don't head out to too many costumed events, either. They're just sitting in a stuffed tote, collecting spiders. And I think some of it may still have playa dust from Burning Man 2010. And, perhaps the saddest outfit in my closet: my wedding dress. Sure, it's just a semi-matching skirt and top from Hot Topic, but there's a certain sentimentality in it. Lots of women will go back and see if their dress still fits. Mine, sadly, will likely stay stuffed in a box in the closet.
I just turned 30 in September. For some women, this is the dreaded number (until 40 creeps closer). For me, it's just a reminder that I've lacked the motivation and confidence to actually succeed at anything in my life. I'm determined to plow away at my design degree, and, at some point, finish the last bit I need for my business degree. I want to succeed at my business, revitalize my stagnant marriage, and lead a healthier lifestyle. And I'm hoping that coming out and admitting not only to myself, to but everyone, that I love food and sitting on my ass a little too much will help keep the fire burning that was lit by an orange and wine maternity top. And, with a little luck (and a lot of hard work), I can look less like 2013 me, and more like 2007 me (except a few years older, of course).
(See what I meant about certain things making me look pregnant?)
