I’ve written a lot about weight, from the time I was happy with my added weight to the time I was even happier to lose some weight and win the Biggest Loser. I’ve written a lot about weight because I think a lot about my weight. It’s always on my mind, from when I’m picking out which jeans to wear to when I’m brushing my teeth before bed at night, staring at myself in the mirror.
I think a lot about my weight because society never lets me not think about my weight. From weight loss commercials on TV to billboard on the side of the road to countless articles online about diet tips and ‘better butt’ workouts, the only message I’m hearing is about weight. Even when it’s body positive messages, we’re still at the essence talking about a woman’s weight. It’s still every day discourse.
I haven’t been working out as much as I usually do; with trips and other pressing issues like buying a house, I really have let my routine slip. And I notice it. My pants are a bit more of a heave to get on, my arms wave a bit more than they should when I gesture and my boobs are spilling out of my bra. Hell, I even bust out of a dress at a wedding because of it. When I went to the doctor yesterday and stepped on the scale, I thought I was going to be mortified.
When the nurse told me my number, I wasn’t shocked, but I also wasn’t appalled. I was only 7-ish pounds over what I find to be my most comfortable weight. However, I feel like a giant tub of lard. Even the shirt I’m wearing as I type this reminds me of the extra love handles I’m currently sporting. Yet at the heart of it, I know from experience that I can drop 7 pounds in a couple weeks, so why is it bothering me so much?
Maybe it’s because my confidence isn’t where it used to be. Maybe it’s because I know it’s easy to hit my target and yet I’m still not motivated to do it. Maybe it’s because I’m just tired of the constant barrage of calorie counting and this is my way to rebel against it. I get why we’re putting calorie counts at restaurants now, but now I can’t go get a free pastry at Panera for my birthday without wanting to cry into the 700 calorie cupcake I know I’d order.
I feel like I have to apologize to people and validate my choices at every step of the way. I can feel the judgement if I'm the only girl at the table ordering a sandwich instead of a salad with the dressing on the side. I'm so tired of the constant reminder that I could be making better choices when all I want sometimes is a damn hamburger.
I'm going to a month of bootcamp starting next week, and I'm hoping that the constant reminder about my weight goes away when some of the weight goes away too. Fingers crossed. If not, can we all agree to just stop talking about a few numbers on the scale 24/7?