Because I have over 300 "friends" on Facebook (at least half of whom are not really friends at all) and only a handful of readers here, I tend to be more open in this space. Today will continue that trend.
If you know me well (or even if you don't know me at all), I can tell you that for the most part, I feel pretty good about myself, both physically and as a person in general. I think it started soon after I had a child, and really solidified once I hit 40. I just have been able to accept who I am, know that I don't have to be perfect to be a good person, and pretty much am okay with my body, even though it is not as thin and tight as I would like it to be.
Unfortunately, in the last six or so months, I gained a few pounds. Going to Baltimore almost a month ago and eating non-stop for several days and hardly moving put me a few more pounds ahead, and I am now the heaviest I have been for only the third time in my life. Unfortunately, because I walk a lot and I started to run again, I still feel decent about myself, so I was lacking the motivation to stop eating all the time.
Yesterday late afternoon, as I was getting dressed for my kid's performance at school, the hubby walked in to me in my underwear. And he said this: "I'm glad I am not the only fat guy in this house."
Are you freaking kidding me?!
What married man says that?!
He tried to back-peddle, saying I was the only person he wanted, he still found me sexy, etc. As if that would somehow make that awful comment be okay. In fact, before he found his way to that sort of compliment, he made another idiotic comment like, "Well, you are not a guy." Thanks for that!
I did not ask him how I looked (I know that is generally a no-win situation for a man), so there was no need for him to share his opinion. And I realize (oversharing again) that the underwear I was wearing kind of pushes things up. But still, dude, keep it to yourself!
The good news is that I had one beer at dinner yesterday instead of two. That evening, I broke out the free weights to do some arm work. And today I actually did not eat every 1.5 to 2 hours at work, as I do most days. [Coworkers often wonder aloud why I am not huge. I am fortunate to have a fast metabolism, but, eventually, it does catch up with me a little.]
I don't want to care about a number on the scale, because I don't. Too much. But when I couple that number that I don't want to be with the slight love handles I know have, well, I do care. So you can take this to the bank: When I go to the beach in a few weeks, I will be thinner.
I know I needed to get back on track; I was going in the wrong direction. Even the thought of being in a bathing suit was not enough to get me to stop stuffing food in my face. So here's to righting a wrong, even if it's delivery was, well, wrong.
Wish me luck. And you don't even have to wish the hubby luck. I am a forgiving person. :-)
But I sure don't forget...