I've not talked much about my weight issues on this blog, but undeniably, it is an aspect of my health that makes my running life a constant challenge.
I am, by most (if not all) standards, significantly overweight, and at this point in my life, I am no longer interested in minimizing the situation or trying to downplay it in any fashion - fact of the matter is, I need to lose 100 lbs.
While I've not had this pronounced of a problem all of my life, I remember being concerned about my weight as far back as junior high school. At that point, it was perhaps only an extra 10-15 lbs. extra - but irregardless of the amount, my weight and my attempts to deal with it have been part of my existence for the majority of my life.
The latest battle in my neverending war on the excess fat cells camped out on my person has been taking place since January of 2009, where I found myself at my absolute highest weight, ever. At that point I decided the madness was going to end, and I started working to re-establish the running life I'd let disintegrate about 7 years before.
So, in the past two years, I've lost roughly 60 lbs., but somewhere in the mix I also lost my motivation - or rather, the hard, strong edge of it - while I've managed to at least not really *gain* any weight, I've bobbled up and down, up and down without actually getting anywhere.
Tonight, I got a little angry. Lately, the whole thing has seemed like the ultimate exercise (pardon my pun) in futility. I don't even know what in particular got under my skin, on this particular evening, but I went on a mental (and verbal, to myself) tirade about how much I hate the fact that food has always been such an anathema while also being such a comfort and an enticement. People talk about "love-hate relationships" with food; I feel like I have the granddaddy of all those relationships, past, present and future.
More than anything, I couldn't overcome the thought about how unfair it is that I cannot indulge in the foods that I really, really like without jeopardizing my weight loss progress. Many think that it's simply a matter of moderation - just take one bite. Just have a few chips. Just have a spoonful. Well, for me, with a lot of a different types of food, that's simply not possible. It's like for me, when it comes to moderation, there simply is no such thing. And salad? I hate salad. No matter how you might dress it up - and when you're trying to be "good", there's not a whole lot you can safely dress that salad up with - it's just not appealing to me. And it doesn't do squat in terms of satisfying my appetite.
Perhaps that's a cop-out, perhaps I am simply rationalizing yet again, dodging the true responsibility that blossoms when one simply stops blaming their problems on external causes. But really and truly, trying to moderate my intake of foods such as warm french bread and butter, whipped cream, pasta, tortilla chips and melted cheddar cheese when it is available and within my reach is sort of like trying to quit breathing. And that makes me MAD.
After the tirade, and after (I confess) a tiny bit of binge eating involving some dry cereal and an english muffin, I put the big girl panties back on and determined once again that I'm not going to give up.
Just gonna hafta kick it up a notch. Or two. Perhaps three........more running, less (or perhaps just better quality) eating. Strength training, consistency. Water, water, water.