There has always been a struggle with my body image. Long before Dory just kept swimming, I was brought up to just keep moving. I was a little chunky, at least that is what I thought I heard. Sometimes my hearing can be distorted. With that being said, I never thought I was thin, but I didn’t think I was fat either. As I look back at pictures, I realize that I wish I had that body instead of the middle-age delight that has settled in for the winter.
I talk a lot about acceptance. The art of truly embracing where you are, but I can confuse that with settling. In two years, I have gained ten pounds, which doesn’t sound awful, but on a five foot frame, it is noticeable. With my knee replacement, I was fairly inactive which didn’t help the issue. I was convinced I had a thyroid issue. Damn thyroid is fine. I started exercising on the treadmill five days a week, nothing budged. I don’t drink soft drinks. I don’t eat fast food. I don’t put crap in my body. Yet, nothing budged. So I surrendered.
I realized that I was settling. Settling because I get uncomfortable with committing to a regiment. The idea of disappointing myself is real. Nobody else is telling me that my middle looks like a marshmallow or that my thighs make a clapping sound. Nope, it is me and I am listening. Maybe it is because I want to feel good and look good (a little vanity goes a long way). So, I write this as a public announcement which makes me accountable.
I still work out five days a week, but I revved up the routine. Intervals of running and walking along with strength training sprinkled with tweaking my diet. Nothing drastic, but changes that I can live with like adding more protein to my breakfast and upping my water intake. It has only been three days, but I feel and see a difference. After forty, my metabolism decided to retire without informing me. You see, I can accept that I will never be a size 2 (never was), but settling isn’t how I want the aging process to proceed.