In the summer, I wrote about how I cut sugar out of my diet and lost a few pounds.
I dropped to 118 from 122 or 123 pounds, what I’ve weighed for the past few years. It was, I hate to admit, fantastic. I had this new marathon leanness. My abs were a bit more chiseled and my cheekbones stood out a little more. Damn, I looked good.
But then stress settled in and I started binging on scones and mint chocolate Milano cookies, and I gained that weight back. I hate to admit that I feel gross and like I failed.
This is my struggle right now.
It’s tough because I am healthy. But I can see those stupid few pounds in my cheeks and I can feel it in my waist when I bend over and in the fit on my jeans. I hate it because I am not anywhere near to being overweight or looking bad or being unfit.
After three weeks off running, I started last week running easy 3-milers and didn’t feel the least bit winded or out of shape. It was like picking up where I left off, only a little more fresh.
And I feel a thickness in my waist and puffiness in my cheeks. Of all the things to worry about in the universe, this is what I keep coming back to? This is what is plaguing my mind?
I’m admitting this to whoever reads my blog because I want to be honest and recognize these struggles. This is life. My marathon PR may be faster than many runners’ and I may still have abs a lot of people would like but I don’t like what I look like right now: soft. It’s shallow and stupid and I cannot escape it. The positive self-talk and telling myself it doesn’t matter because that it’s the off season for racing and I’ll be back at it and lean soon enough doesn’t seem to make a difference.
This is where I am right now.
I know, quite honestly, I’ll get back down to a racing weight and fitness when I need it. The buildup to that starts right now. In fact, I’m going to go do some yoga when I get done furiously typing this post.
I’m also going to cut out sugar (again) from now on except on a few fun occasions like Christmas. Because it is worth making some delicious chocolate memories.
So here it is. It ain’t pretty. It ain’t fun. But it’s real.