I need to lose weight. There. I said it . . . again. I don't know how many Day Ones I've had. The problem is that there haven't been quite as many Day Twos. But here I am again.
To be perfectly honest, I get resentful when I start thinking about the fact that I need to lose weight. I never thought twice about the numbers on the scale until after I had my first baby. It was never an issue for me before then, and I was free to eat whatever I wanted. But I packed on the pounds in my first pregnancy, and those pounds hung around for the second and third pregnancies. Now my third baby is five years old, and I can no longer use the baby weight excuse.
But now I have another excuse. The medication I've been taking for a few years has caused me to gain considerable weight, and it causes the weight to be more difficult to lose. This is extremely frustrating and discouraging for me. I managed to lose 11 pounds on Weight Watchers last year, but I have since gained those 11 plus a few more back. AAARRRGH!
While I'm in the confession mode, I'll just go ahead and say that I get in the "It's not fair!" mindset when I look at my three sisters, who are all tiny. And, yes, two of them have had babies. Don't we have the same genes?! My guess is that whatever skinny genes skipped over me are the same genes that contained natural basketball ability, since I was the only one in the family who didn't excel in this. I'm a lot more okay with missing out on the basketball gene, though. But that skinny gene sure would be nice to have. (And by the way, I am not excited about skinny jeans coming back in style.)
So there's that frustration, which I know is really my own sinful battle with pride. I am not to compare myself with others. Sometimes I let myself fall into the flip side of that comparison, allowing myself to look around and say, "Well, I'm smaller than she is. And her and her and her . . . " (No, I don't say this out loud.) But this is equally wrong and very prideful. Plus, I live in Mississippi, which is known for its obesity, so it's not even a good comparison.
And then there's the very real battle against the overwhelming pressure in America to have a perfect body. TV, magazines, movies, spokesmodels, the internet, infomercials, etc., etc. all tell us that we can have the body we always dreamed of and that it is easy and that we can do it all in just three minutes a day. Riiiiiiiiight.
The truth is that it takes a lot of work. It takes discipline and dedication and motivation--three things that must also be included in that skinny/basketball gene I didn't get. So since I don't have it naturally, I'm going to have to come up with a test tube gene or something that I can inject myself with, because something has to happen. My doctor said so. Grrrrrr.
So here I am at Day One . . . again. My plan is to incorporate a lot more exercise into my daily life and also make better choices in my eating. I know myself well enough to know that if I set unrealistic expectations (like cutting out sweets altogether), I won't be successful. I would much rather make long-term lifestyle changes than be on a crazy strict short-term diet. I also have to reason with myself--my health is more important than my appearance. I need to make changes in my diet and exercise habits, even if I don't lose all the weight I'd like to lose (particularly due to the culprit known as my medication).
To sound very Nike about it--I have to just do it. I can't treat this like I treat the dirt in my house, which is to just stare at it and wonder why it doesn't go away on its own. But I can't let it become an obsession, either, because I think that that is sinful as well. I also can't let my reasons (having babies, being in my 30s, a slower metabolism, and all the others) become excuses. And no one else can lose the weight for me. (Darn it.)
So here's to Day One. May there only be one of you.