One Day At A Time

9 days of 60 minute workouts.  Hard.  Both the level of workout and making myself do it.  But I am.

Also calorie counting.  1200.  Doable but I can't make any mistakes.  I realize how many little things I was always letting go.  They all count now.

There is a lot that goes into all of this, and why I haven't been doing it.  It isn't really HARD, you know?  It isn't NEWS.  It is just a reflection of a self esteem issue which requires me to fail and feel like shit (I have been very successful in this department), a slowing metabolism and hormonal flux which required MORE conscious effort and not the LESS I had decided I'd earned the right to expend (see self esteem issues above), the busy life we live, my predisposition to put everyone else's needs first, and my all or nothing personality which was constantly derailing any effort anytime I had to take a legitimate break for health/family reasons (see putting everyone's needs first).

So, I'm just like you.  I have spent the last 3 solid years letting myself fail at something, more or less on purpose, not because I can't succeed but to keep myself from succeeding.  20 years of therapy and I'm still working on the human condition.

I have tried everything I can to avoid just doing the thing that I know works.  Why?  So that I can fail... I've found more than a dozen ways to fail at taking care of myself in the way that actual results in liking who I am.  I will struggle with this my whole life.  I'm content with that.  I just have to wake up everyday and decide that the one hour it takes to be successful is easier than enduring 24 hours of mental self abuse.  Even when the excuses call to me like a Siren.

I can do this.  I can like myself again and not let it go once I reach my goal.

Steps:
I have to weigh myself every SINGLE fucking day.  Period.  This doesn't make me feel bad about myself.  I have a very small frame and gaining weight is a slippery slope and it is just so much harder for me to lose it than to maintain it.  I need to stay fully conscious of where I am at. A slight gain is motivation to keep working out, checking in a year later and realizing you've gained 10 lbs? (yes, I did that) just set me up on failure/shame spiral that has held me down ever since.

I have to workout every SINGLE fucking day for 60 minutes.  That is my body type, that is what I know works and allows me to not have to micromanage my food once I am back in maintenance, and that is factually the amount I need to burn enough calories to be able to lose while eating 1200 calories a day... I can't eat less without harming my family with my low blood sugar mood swings.

I am not going to volunteer at anymore school events (outside of my PTL commitments & field trips).  Between both schools I have had my schedule so chopped up that it was too easy for me to cut out working out.  I am still baby stepping into a solid routine and reestablishing a habit...I know myself and I need to get as many consecutive days done as humanly possible before I mess with my rhythm.  I might not be able to (or want to) put myself before my children or Mr F, but I sure as hell am going to put myself before school craft fairs for crying out loud!

That's it.  I'm not eating Paleo (interestingly read a fascinating blog post about why it doesn't work for women HERE which resonated with my experience), because I don't need to, I just need to chose to respect myself.  I'm eating whatever the hell I want as long as I account for it and have the calories to do it (I've had a Starbucks Caramel Flan Latte for lunch twice in 9 days... believe it), this is what works for me and allows me to eat with virtually no impact on my family.

Here's the nitty gritty in case you want to know.  I've essentially gained 15 pounds (all fat, obviously) in the 3+ years we've been back in MI.  That might not sound like a lot, and for anyone over 5' it probably isn't!  But for me, that is a 15% body fat increase and 2-3 pant size increase and... well... I wear it on my face & gut and I hate myself for it.  People (other than Kid) have asked if I was pregnant... so... you know... 15 pounds that makes you look 4 months pregnant is a fucking problem for my self esteem.  And I'm just done hating myself for it, when it is a completely fixable problem and would only take 3 months of focused effort to take care of.

The End.  I'm taking care of it.