Weighing the Issue...

I've been debating a post of this nature since last July. And to be honest, I'm still a bit hesitant to pull the trigger. So who knows if I'll actually get the cahoonas to hit publish. I may publish and take it down. I may hit publish and remove it from posting to facebook. I may set this whole stupid post to private. But I feel like I need to just throw it out there in the universe and let the pieces fall where they may.

This blog has always been about the pursuit of sport. Road Races. Marathons. Triathlons. 70.3's. And even the big bad Ironman. We've even had a bit of odds and ends in the mix...stair climbing races, 200 mile relays, shopping cart derbies...met all sorts of wonderful and fabulous people along the way...all in all, there have been a lot of fun times over the past 5ish years documented here.

But the one thing that has seemingly always weighed on my mind, but I've never actually been forthright in addressing (until now), is my weight.

You'd think that in running thousands of miles, swimming until your body is pruned and biking off into the sunset would whittle me away into nothing by now. (a girl can only dream, right?) But in fact, all the years of training seem to have had the opposite effect.

It started off with a few pounds gained for my first marathon back in 2006.

Oh it's just muscle mass. I foolishly told myself.

Mmm. No. Let's be blunt. It's the cumulative effect of shit you ate because you felt like you had earned it after all those long runs. Did you earn a slice of pizza? Sure. Did you earn eating the whole damn thing by yourself? Hardly.

Over the years, a few pounds turned into ten...and then fiften...and twenty-plus...all from a series of ridiculously stupid decisions made along the way THAT WERE ENTIRELY AVOIDABLE. And then we hit an all time low point last year. The scale hovered 170. And let me tell, that was an eye-opening, mortifying and heartbreaking experience.

Last summer, we went on a family vacation with my folks and siblings. As much as I love my family, some days I feel like I really got screwed on the gene pool. I have one sister who is naturally petite. Another sister, who because of cancer, will eternally be the size of a toothpick. An athletically built brother who could probably up and run a marathon with nearly zero training (not to mention his wife who is beyond gorgeous, a former college cheerleader, and looks like she never ages).

I love my family to bits, but when we're all together, it's impossible to not feel like Andre the Giant in every sense of the name. Because of this, I absolutely loathe seeing myself in photos. A series of individuals who look perfect and tiny and fit...and then me. The blob trying to hide in the back. (As a result, I much prefer to be behind the lens.) One day we all spent the afternoon out on the lake, hanging out in the pontoon boat, zipping around on a jet ski, having fun. When we got home, my mom uploaded the photos from the day. At first I was jazzed to start looking at them. But I don't think I made it through half the images before I shut the laptop and headed down to my room to just sob for what felt like an hour.

I looked...in a word...enormous.

Is my view of myself arguably skewed?

Probably.

Am I fat?

Hardly.

But what I saw was ugly. And I hated it.

In my eyes, I looked horrible, especially in comparison to everyone else (and this tends to happen with friends and training mates, too--not just family). I know, I know...the likelihood of any of them accomplishing something like an Ironman is nearly zero. And I understand I shouldn't compare myself to others, but still...it's hard not to.

So last July was my starting point. I made a mental pact with myself that, effective immediately, I was going to start making better choices with what I was eating. The biggest challenge was keeping my calories up to sustain myself for the long workouts in Ironman Training.

Eventually, things started to level out. And by the end of my final build of IMAZ preparation I was down in the low 160's.

Since November, things have continued to slowly progress in the right direction, which is good. I'm now in the mid 150's. Pants that were once too tight are now loose or fit perfectly once more. But honestly? I still have my work cut out for me.

Point blank, I am fed up with looking in the mirror and being disgusted with my own body. And then feeling disappointed with myself for allowing things to get this bad. It's not just a weight thing, but an issue of tone as well. Sure, my body has accomplished many incredible things up to this point, but I just want to be able to look in a mirror once again and think to myself "damn, I look gooooooooood."

(Trust me. I've been taking the necessary steps to get there. And get there, I will!!)

I know that I'm not the only female out there who feels this way, and I understand that there are individuals out there feeling like they're "worse off" than I am right now. But damnit, so very few people talk about internal headcase that the scale turns us all into, so I figure I'm going to be one of the few who will try to articulate it (at least once in a while, as I refuse to let this blog turn into Barb's Weight Loss Docu-Drama). I just think people in general really underestimate just how much unhappiness with ones own body spills over into other areas of your life.

I mean...if I don't like me in my own skin, how can I expect anyone else to? And thoughts like that start the vicious wheel spinning and it's often hard to reel them back in before they get irrational and out of control.

I've come to accept the fact that sometimes I obsess over the wrong numbers too much. For the longest time it was hard not to step on a scale and feel heartbroken on some level. But the scale isn't always the number that counts. So moving forward, each month, inches will be totaled and compared to track progress. Additionally, I've been more attentive with counting calories and making sure I'm getting in enough good fats and protein. For most folks, it seems like being active is the challenge. For me, it's portion control and making sure the things that go in my mouth aren't just healthy, but are meeting my requirements for athletic fuel.

For years, I feel like my weight (at least how I perceive myself) has been a huge reason why I've held myself back when it comes to running and biking. It has been well documented that lighter people tend to go faster since they have less weight in tow and that every pound you carry translates to XX additional seconds and there's all sorts of never-ending math equations to back it all up. So I sort of accepted the fact that I was slower because I was a different build than other athletes.

What tomfoolery!

But I'm determined to change that. and not hold myself back anymore. and really try to push every fiber of my body to see what I've got. I can't sit here and wait to be rescued from allowing myself to feel this way. The only person who can save me, is me.

So I'm doing what I can with what I've got.

There is no gym membership involved sadly (though if someone wants to pick the monthly tab for this I will certainly let them). No enlisting in WW or Jenny Craig. Just trying to be smart(er) and dial in on the things I can change--eating fresh, cutting out crap, incorporating strength training, keeping up the mileage and making this whole process fun. Figuring out a way to enjoy that six-pack of beer without sacrificing six-pack abs (not technically, but you know what I mean). So if you've got any secrets on how to accomplish this, by all means...don't hold back...let me hear it!

And in the meantime, stay tuned for landmark milestones as numbers continue to drop over the next few months...