“How about we just start with the facts?
WEIGHT: 203 lbs.
MEASUREMENTS: Waist = 38 ½; Hips = 44 ¾; Arms = 14 ½; Thighs = 27 ½.
BODY FAT: 38%
Those numbers are brutal, aren’t they? Yikes. They represent the cold, hard truth that things have spun wildly out of control. They reveal that I’ve been reckless, unaccountable, and that there comes a time when you really have to figure out what you want out of your life. Because let me tell you, with statistics like these, it’s not difficult to guess that I’m not getting what I want out of my life. Or, maybe I am. I am getting out of it what I’ve been putting into it, which has been minimal activity, poor sleep habits, junk eating, and a shockingly steady stream of Mike and Ikes to boot (more on those later). I have been doing awful things to my body and I’ve finally come to realize that if I don’t begin damage control immediately, those awful things could come to seriously harm my health and well-being in ways that it may be difficult to bounce back from.”
WOW. It is really hard to try and articulate how I feel about all of that right now, in this moment. I just found that blog entry I’d started three years ago, for a blog I had begun to keep me accountable, for a weight loss mission I embarked on that likely lasted somewhere around a week or so – my best guess based on knowing my patterns and my behavior and the way I “tackle” my weight issues. Huh. This is interesting. Sad and awful and in a way, exhausting. Really, I am just tiring myself out with this. Here I am three years later, right around the same time of year that I had written those words, within about five pounds and probably around the same measurements, if not bigger. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the line about how “…there comes a time when you really have to figure out what you want out of life.” I mean, MY GOD, who do I think I am fooling? Jesus. This is way more embarrassing to me than taking a picture of my weight on a scale and posting it. Finding this, knowing there have been countless life-long attempts before and after I wrote those words to seek change, find inspiration, do whatever the hell it is I think I’m supposed to be doing, and to then discover I’VE DONE NOTHING?!? I’VE DONE NOTHING. This is like an arrow to my heart right now. What I have always felt in the depths of my gut has become blatantly true: I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HELP MYSELF. I don’t. I don’t have a clue and I am so exhausted by myself that if there were a way I could jump out of my skin and separate myself from – what? – MYSELF, I guess – I would do it. Shit. I feel like I’ve been looking for bumper sticker inspiration and quick fixes, and through it all I’ve put it on myself to change it and I don’t know HOW to change it!! I come from a family that rides out the bumps in the road with grit, spirit and pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps no matter what, and in ANY OTHER AREA, I can do exactly that. In any other area, except the ONE I CAN’T FIX. Shit again. This kind of failure is so painful because it’s obvious: I wear it over every square inch of my body. My endless second chances, my do-overs, my “Start Again Mondays” are on my hips, my legs, my belly and more solidly in my head and in the emotions that tie me down and strangle my resolve, nearly every day.
Devoid of the spirit, grit and bootstraps, I find myself wondering what my next steps will be, and where they will take me. It has to be anywhere but here, of that I am absolutely certain. I feel like I got myself into this mess so I should get myself out, but for me it has never that simple. I’ve been thinking and even writing about the same things over and over, time and again, for what feels like ten lifetimes. But essentially, I’ve done nothing, and wishing and hoping aren’t actions. I can find bumper sticker inspiration about taking action, or I can do it. I just have to figure out how. I don’t want to find these words three years from now and discover that I’ve allowed more time to go by - I’ve already wasted so much of it.
