Mobile
I've been a personal trainer for more than a decade, but I never felt the need to maintain a trainer's stereotypically muscle-bound physique. In fact, I carried a little extra weight around as a badge of honor, 20 subversive pounds that proved my commitment to quality of life over superficial concerns. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
My clients didn't seem to care one way or another. They work and play too much, just like me, and we try to focus on health and balance over inches lost. But the "quality of life" I so proudly defended for myself wasn't the result of eating freely and joyfully with people I loved. Instead, it was the product of excessive midnight snacks that took the edge off my anxiety as I drifted off to sleep.
I felt heavy, not liberated, and as I sat in a wooden pew at my grandmother's funeral last summer, I took a hard look at how I wanted to feel walking around on planet Earth while I still had the chance. I didn't want to be weighed down anymore.
Physically, I knew what to do. Eat better. Move more. It doesn't take a Ph.D. But mentally and emotionally, sticking to that path — for real this time — was a comedy of errors, a pageant of psychological acrobatics. I decided to make a study of it, not only to document my progress, but to examine with surgical precision what had interrupted my weight-loss attempts in the past. I wanted to understand what forces were hijacking my own best efforts and those of my clients just when we were starting to make progress.
As the weight came off, the difference in how I felt physically was breathtaking, but I could have predicted that. What I didn't anticipate was how difficult it would be for my brain to adjust to living in this exhilarating yet unfamiliar new body.
When I lost the first five pounds, I began to feel out of sorts. I was awkward in conversation and prodded by nagging self-doubt, which didn't make sense. I should have felt great, but I had grown accustomed to my body being a certain way in the world — wearing clothes, sitting at my desk, walking to the hardware store. Just because I didn't like tugging at my waistband on a daily basis didn't mean I wasn't used to it. When we're used to something, it's decidedly weird to let it go. As my shape shifted, my identity came loose a bit, and it threw me.
I had to get OK with being awkward for a little while. I felt like a teenage girl growing into oversized boobs — uncomfortable, but hopeful that the payoff would be good. If I could recognize that my foibles were fleeting and not nearly as bad as I imagined them, I could avoid medicating my discomfort with food.
After hitting my goal weight, I was haunted by a desire to look over my shoulder, as if the lost pounds were lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to rejoin me. It was victory punctuated by fear. I was terrified I'd be unable to hang onto the weight loss, and that fear brought with it the impulse to deprive myself of all things fun. After deprivation came rebellion and indulgence, echoes of the habits that kept me heavy in the first place.
When panic set in, instead of depriving or demeaning myself, I had to actively reach for the food and physical motion that had healed me months earlier. I had to identify which tangible actions reliably calmed my mind and strengthened my body.
Months after the weight was lost, periodically I would become convinced that I had gained it back. My clothes no longer felt effortlessly loose. The number on the scale was as low as ever, but I was still living in the same body. I had the same old lumps and bumps as always; they were just smaller.
Eventually, my new size stopped feeling otherworldly, magical, and came to feel just plain normal. That feeling of normalcy — which felt like a letdown — is actually a remarkable accomplishment. It means I redefined my comfort zone. The weight range where I feel "average" is now lower, which might seem mundane but is in fact extraordinary.
Even better than losing the weight, I found my way off of the psychological seesaw I'd been on for two decades, and I learned how to better help my clients do the same. Weight loss is a mind game more than a battle of the bulge. It should have been obvious to me that "success" would be a weird amalgam of awkwardness and triumph. It's been that way every other time I've succeeded at something new. Why should I expect weight loss to be any different? It feels nice to be at home in my own skin. And strange ... really, very strange.
Speaking of...
-
A case for gardening
Dec 30, 2020 -
Dr. Anna Avaliani On the Many Benefits of CoolSculpting
Oct 9, 2020 -
Hemp Milk: A nutritious, plant-based alternative to traditional cow milk
Nov 25, 2019 - More »
Latest in Vodka Yonic
Calendar
-
Haw River Wine Tasting @ Carolina Beer Temple.
- Wed., April 24, 5-7 p.m.
-
Haw River Wine Tasting @ Carolina Beer Temple.
- Wed., April 24, 5-7 p.m.
-
-
Mayo Clinic 8th Annual SKIN: Practical Dermatology for the Generalist @ The Ballantyne, a Luxury Collection Hotel, Charlotte
- Thu., April 25, 8 a.m.-12 p.m., Fri., April 26, 8 a.m.-12 p.m. and Sat., April 27, 8 a.m.-12 p.m.
-
-
TRIVIA THURSDAYS!!! @ Elizabeth Parlour Room
- Thursdays, 7-8:30 p.m. Continues through June 27
-
-
NHRA Four-Wide Nationals - Friday @ Charlotte Motor Speedway
- Fri., April 26, 9 a.m.
-
-
A Beginners Guide To Fishing 1
-
Sexercise with yoga ball dildos 1
The sexercise machine you would watch an hour-long infomercial on.
-
Veterans Day deals
Veterans Day: Creative Loafing says "thank you." Other companies give you discounts.
