Friday, May 26, 2017

My Life in Scales: Part 3, The Reckoning.

After about a year of working at my new branch, I had to go to the doctor's. And now we come full circle. There was nothing wrong with me, just a typical OB-GYN appointment to get the lady parts checked out. But of course, I was going to have to hop on that damn scale. This time, I knew better. I took off my coat, my purse and even slipped out of my shoes and cardigan. I dumped everything on the near by phlebotomy chair much to the chagrin of the nurse. I was not taking any chances this time and I was going to make sure my weight was as accurate as possible. I stepped on the scale. She adjusted one little gizmo. Then another. Then she started inching that little one, further and further to the right. A little more. And there. 220. I think my face crumpled, because the nurse looked very sympathetic. I was actually shocked I weighed so much, I always assumed I was around 200. Turns out I was 20 whole lbs over what I had initially thought.

I really shouldn't have been surprised though. I worked a job at a desk, and I didn't really watch what I ate. I never got any exercise, aside from the odd walk around the mall or neighborhood. I knew I was steadily getting bigger, as my pants and dresses stopped fitting me as well, or items that used to be a bit too baggy were now fitting properly. Like most Americans, I never really thought that my diet and lack of exercise would have any kind of consequences. I decided that I was okay with my weight. I felt beautiful, curvaceous and I was finally finding great clothes in styles that fit me. What did I have to change? Still though, I had a niggling sensation in the back of my mind that this is not okay.

There was another point after that moment that made me think a bit. I was sitting at my desk, working on something when I heard an audible "pop!" from the region of my left boob. And suddenly lefty started to sag just a tiny bit. My damn underwire broke. I thought I was going to cry. That was my best bra. It lifted and shaped my large and unwieldy chest so I looked like a bombshell. I tried to save it, but once the underwire was gone, I knew I had to let go. I went to Lane Bryant and picked up some new bras. I was pleased to see they had new colors and styles, so I happily skipped back to the dressing room with an armload of underwear.

Cue the meltdown. My old faithful was an old design that they nixed at the end of that last year. Apparently some women who don't know how bras are supposed to fit complained that actual support was uncomfortable so Lame Bryant changed it. And now I looked saggy and fat in the new style of bras. I was devastated, as I looked upon my gut sticking out even more started to cry. Those bras made me look so fat. I decided that I needed to get some real bra advice, so I logged on to Reddit when I got home and introduced myself to the A Bra That Fits community. With recommendations and brand names under my belt, I started a frenzy of buying and returning bras, trying to find that perfect fit. Each one I tried felt nothing like my beautiful oldie-but-goodie, and all I saw in the mirror was my stomach looking distended.

At this point, I knew I had to face the facts, and look at the truth. The bras were not making me look fat, I was just fat. Which, necessarily wasn't a terribly bad thing. Dramatics in fitting rooms aside, I really did like what I saw in the mirror. I loved my style, I loved my curves, and I felt adorable. And yet, when my clothes came off, I was stunned by how large my waist had grown. Even at this point, looking back in hindsight, I don't know if I even really liked what I saw. I think that instead of really accepting myself for who I was, I was settling. Moreover, I was worried about my health. I knew very well that I was on the road to obesity. I decided I needed to do something before all of this got out of hand.

The real question was "what to do?". I absolutely hated exercise in any form. Walking too much made my back and feet hurt. And since I was a smoker, cardio was out as it made me want to die. I decided to change my diet and start practicing yoga. I downloaded MyFitnessPal, a free calorie and exercise tracker that expects you to be honest about what you eat (oh, god). Yoga was fun, and I was starting to see a strength and flexibility in my body I had never seen before. I was starting to feel pretty good, and I was seeing some results. I lost about 12 pounds...and then I quit. I am not entirely sure why, I think I just got tired of restrictions, and I think I tried to go too hard too fast. I tried to start eating all organic, and basically making my meals all lean protein and veggies.

It wasn't a sustainable diet. I went from zero-to-sixty over night and I couldn't keep it up. I even lost my taste for yoga, as getting to the classes, settling in and getting home from the classes became a two hour ordeal. And that was when I just decided to give up. I leaned back and while not exactly accepting my fatness, I just existed with it. I figured if I was was going to be "this way" I would try to be more positive about it. I started to read blogs that espoused body positivity and plus size fashion. I tried really hard to accept myself as I was, but I still had trouble really loving my body. I hated the aches and pains, the weird tightness in my chest when I would climb stairs. My knees would hurt. If I was out and about for too long my lower back would scream by the end of the day. My skin was constantly breaking out, no matter how many different gels, creams and lotions I used. Even my hair was miserable, limp and oily by the end of the day. Still I carried on like this for five years. I ate and drank whatever I wanted, consequences be damned. I blithely went about my day, trying to be happy in my body.

However, things had to get much, much worse before they could get better.

To be concluded...



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