High School Health Class Scarred Me for Life

And no not in the way that you're probably thinking. I actually managed to be sick the day they showed "The Miracle of Life". So my issues with pregnancy, labor, and babies are all of my own making. However, I was there the day that my teacher told us to see if we could make our thumb and pointer finger touch when we wrapped them around our wrist bone. (Kind of like the whole seeing if your hands can reach when you hug someone but with your wrist...) This seems innocent enough but trust me it so isn't. Apparently healthy non-fat people were supposed to be able to have their fingers not only touch but overlap a bit. I however could not even get mine to touch.

Ever since this day I have lived in constant fear of the frist. You know what I am talking about, the wrist version of a cankle. Its completely irrational because even now when I weight 10lbs more than I weighed then I know I am not at risk for either. Despite this I still find myself subconsiously grabbing my wrist just to check that my fingers still touch. (Yes I can touch now, though still no overlap. Somehow while gaining 10 lbs my wrists got skinnier? Or maybe my fingers got longer?) I just realized this today when I was sitting at my desk and had for the 5th time checked to make sure my fingers were actually touching. They weren't yesterday. Maybe I ate too much salt that day?

Thank you 10th grade health class.

The Never-Ending Battle

Recently I have been feeling really unhappy with my body image. Every time I look in the mirror, I swear I'm noticeably fatter. I'm petrified of the scale, and when I finally get the courage up to weigh myself I am only let down more by either a lack of movement or a small gain. I feel like I'm in a losing battle and there is nothing I can do about it.

Did I always used to feel this way? I try and think back to a time when I was happy with my body and I honestly can't remember that time ever existing. I can remember not caring. But thats not the same as being happy. I do remember the moment that I started to care though. It was fourth grade. We got weighed by the school nurse. I weighed 99 lbs. Now I definitely wasn't fat, I was also 4ft 11in at the time and so that gave me a BMI of right around 20. I'd kill to have a BMI of 20 right now. But as a 10 year old its hard to be rational all the time, and when all your friends weigh around 75 lbs and you weigh basically 25 lbs more than them it doesn't matter that you're a perfectly healthy weight for your size, all that matters is you weigh SO much more than everyone else.

Since then, I have never been happy or comfortable with my weight or body. All through middle school and high school I was terrified of ever being asked my weight. While my skinny beautiful friends would talk about their 26 inch waists I would hope that they didn't want to know my waist size (it was only 28 inches, but in comparison that seems like a lot). While my friends tried on their size 4 jeans I would grab my size 8s as fast as possible and immediately try and hide the label so no one would know how much bigger I was.

Why have I contined to terrorized myself for the last 14 years of my life? Why can't I just be happy that I am safely in the healthy range for weight and body fat composition? Honestly, I have no idea. I wish I did. I'm completely at a loss. I keep telling myself maybe if I get down to my dream weight of 140 lbs I'll be happy. But I remember being 138 lbs my freshman year of college (a feat that was only accomplished through exercise and severe and constant nausea due to stress), I was no happier. In fact I didn't really notice much difference at the time. Maybe someday I'll discover the answer. Until then I guess its back to the daily battle with body image. Let me know if you have Excalibur hidden somewhere, I'd be happy for the help.

Falling down to Earth

I always thought that when I managed to accomplish something monumental it would be life changing. Like somehow I would suddenly be able to do anything. Now two weeks after running and finishing my first marathon I know how wrong I was. Instead of feeling powerful and in control I feel like I am spiraling back down to earth where reality has once again beaten me into submission. I am not any more able to stick to my goals now than I was 3 weeks ago. In fact I feel less motivated. I'm struggling to even think of goals that are worth accomplishing.

Of course there are always the stock goals to fall back on like "I want to workout consistently", or "I want to kick the candy habit", even the "I want to not hate myself when I look in the mirror" one has been floating around. The problem is I've never been motivated enough to tackle those goals before and today is no different. Instead of feeling like I can do whatever I set my mind to when I think about those goals I feel like I am doomed to failure. Two weeks after accomplishing the hardest thing I've ever set out to do I am already falling back into the perpetual guilt cycle.

Can I break the cycle? I have no idea. But I am going to try. This is my new goal: embrace and accept my ADD. I am never going to be one of those people who can stick to every plan they make but I can be someone who doesn't hate myself when get distracted by a pretty flower, a new book, or just the siren song of a few more minutes of sleep. Of course this goal is hard to track the progress of so I have a few other goals I plan on working on too. For this week: drink 72 oz  of water each day, whenever I feel like complaining about something add "but it doesn't matter" to the end of the complaint, exercise 3 days this week, and don't spend money on candy. Seems reasonable right?