There are four people that are my closest friends and I tell them things that I wouldn't tell anyone else. Three of them each have a child that I'm godmother for. I spend every chance I get with them and my godkids. The fourth one lives overseas so we talk a lot on the phone.
Six weeks ago I signed up with a personal trainer. I'm a part of her group training sessions since I prefer to work out around people as opposed to working one on one with the trainer. I've made fast friends with the other group members.
In almost every conversation with them, I bring up my weight. I vent about my weight in a "this is a comedy moment" kind of way. I tell my friends about the way acquaintances greet me on the street by saying "Where are you going getting so big girl?" or "What's up Fatty Boom Boom?" or, my favorites, "Do you realize that you've gained a lot of weight? What happened? You need to do something about that." and "Are you pregnant?" And all the while I'm laughing through my stories.
Along with those four close friends, my Mom, my best friend, knows the truth. She knows that feelings of anger, hurt, and shame course through me whenever I have these encounters. I take the comments with a smile on my face and I make a few excuses to the people who are doing the commenting. But afterwards, I feel really crappy. And I beat up myself for being overweight.
The Anger:
What pisses me off is that more than half of the people who say these things to me are either more overweight than I am or they don't do any form of exercise whatsoever! While I'm kicking ass in the gym. Also, they don't know my struggles. They don't know my medical history, which has significantly contributed to some of my weight gain, and they don't understand how difficult it is to break many of the bad lifestlye habits I've accumulated over the years.
The Hurt:
People don't know how hard I try. I wake up at 4:30am Monday to Friday to go to an intense workout. After work I'm back in the gym for circuit/spinning/abs/bootcamp/Zumba/kickboxing classes. And even after that I lift weights. Sometimes I swap those workouts for cycling or running at the track. Occassionally, on Saturdays I workout too, but I understand the importance of resting, so I don't do it all the time. Exercise and healthy eating go hand in hand, and I eat more healthily than most people in the country although I have a weekness for sugary snacks. I get impatient because the weight just doesn't seem to be coming off fast enough. But I fight through the frustration and put in as much as I can. And whenever possible, I try to have fun with exercising like hiking and road relays with friends to help.
Don't worry...I'm not crying while I'm typing this. :)
The Shame:
It's my fault. I used to weigh 40lbs less than I do now. (My trainer will weigh me tomorrow to see how much I've lost. I'm sooo nervous.) I can blame my weight gain on a bunch of different circumstances and many of them are justifiable. But I have to be honest and acknowledge that my own bad habits have also caused me to be in the position I'm in. In past years, I've been unacceptably lax with my workouts. I would workout steadily for a week and then not workout at all for a month before starting up again. When it came to eating I would go the whole day without taking a bite, caught up in the business of work, and then eat a whole lot at night, just before going to bed. That, my friends, is a recipe for disaster. I ended up with a fat back and ulcers.
The Facts:
Concerning my weight commentators: I've been advised by a few well intentioned friends to stick my middle finger in their faces and say, "!%#$ off and go buy a gym membership!" I love my friends! Lol! But the fact is, that's not who I am. Secondly, I am doing something about my weight...In fact, I'm doing A LOT about my weight. I'm exercising; I'm controlling my portions; I have the occasional slip (which can be considered healthy simply because it keeps me sane); and overall I'm adapting a healthy lifestyle. Final fact, I can't control other people and what they say, but I can control myself.
The Solution:
I chose to love me. Every inch of me. Some days, that declaration seems like a joke, and it's an ongoing battle to actually love myself and my belly fat. But I've stopped making excuses and I'm putting in the work. Best of all, I'm getting healthy for me. I've also come up with the perfect answer for the commentators: "Give me three months." What does that statement mean? It means, give me three months to shut you up; give me three months to make you wish you were me. In addition, for every commentator I have loving family and friends who give me truck loads of encouragement.
The !#$%-ed Up Thing:
When I reach my weight loss goals, people will probably start saying that I've lost too much weight and that I need some "meat on my bones." That's what they said five years ago when I was fit, trim and feeling great about myself. But screw them! This is my life, not theirs.
So if there's anyone out there who feels where I'm coming from, just know that you're not alone. And know, that you have it in you to make the difference. Forget what people say. Everyone was born with a mouth and will always talk. Find the workout plan that's right for you and take Nike's advise, "Just Do It!" It's the only way to get results.
The Up Side:
My friends and I went camping at the beach over Easter weekend and had so much fun that we forgot to put on sunblock. We all got badly sunburned. So instead, people are now asking me, "How come you're so black?" Lol! Humans boi!
