Dearest Rachel –
Two hundred ten point five.
That’s what I was looking at this morning when I first woke up; before making my way to the gym to work out. Yesterday aside, I’d only seen that number after a hour or more of vigorous exercise, and only a couple of times before bobbing back up to the mid-two-teens. Today, I was seeing it without having done anything, with the added virtual guarantee that I’d be able to drop below that two-ten mark after doing my usual workout routine. Even if I did less than my usual routine – and Lars had suggested I do just that, as my overextending myself yesterday could have been dangerous – I’d be able to get myself under that level easily.
So why am I so disappointed?
Yes, it’s back up from yesterday; after pushing myself so hard, I had two meals. Dinner, although early (to give Daniel and myself time before Sparks) wasn’t particularly judicious in terms of calories, unless you count the fact that I basically got myself a pizza without a crust; just the ingredients in a bowl. But we also split a few boneless chicken wings and a cinnamon pastry thing – that last being fairly dense, sweet and greasy; all tasty attributes, but none of them particularly healthy. But hey, it felt like a reward for both having put myself through so much earlier on in the day, and for getting the results I had from that effort. I shouldn’t be all that surprised – or bothered – by the fact that these sorts of things bring me back up to such a level, especially since it’s one that I’d last reached two weeks before, and that only from putting myself through my usual paces.
But it’s one thing to drop down to a new level in this whole weight loss journey, and another to bob back up through a level you once thought virtually uncrossable – only this time, you’re crossing it from below. The first feels like an accomplishment; the second, more like backsliding. You’ve made it; now you’ve gone and unmade it. And while yes, my walk this morning did bring me back below the two-ten level yet again, the drop was nothing compared to yesterday’s, where I started a pound less than I did today, and shed four over the course of a couple hours’ work. Today, I only managed to drop two pounds, which is low for any exercise session; and after accomplishing as much as I had yesterday, it feels particularly sub-par.
But still, I should be pleased. Before last weekend, I had spent the better part of the month simply dancing around the two-fifteen line; now, I’ve broken through to the point where that might very well be my new ceiling going forward. Even a fairly heavy meal doesn’t take me back to much over two-ten. You’d think I could be satisfied with this, at least for now.
And yet, it bothers me, somehow. It’s not enough that the trend is headed in the right direction; it has to constantly be reaching new marks all the time, or I’m upset about this. Even though I know that this yo-yo process is all part of the journey – and I did deliberately reward myself – I can’t seem to allow myself to accept the ups and downs of the journey.
And I can’t say that I like this.
It was better when I didn’t care about this, to a certain extent – or rather, didn’t feel the need to care, in any event. Sure, I’ve developed a certain level of discipline, and I can’t deny that I’m healthier than I’ve been in ages, but I’ve also noticed this level of dissatisfaction creeping into my outlook. And it’s not just directed inwardly; I will see certain people as I walk or drive around, and notice how much they’re carrying on their frame. When I was every bit as guilty as they were of doing so, I knew not to be judgmental about their appearance; now that I’ve pruned so much off of myself, it distresses me to hear this contemptuous little voice in the back of my mind talking about how this or that person looks, and what they ought to be doing about it, and questioning why they don’t. I don’t know what it is – I don’t recognize it as “superego,” “ego” or even “id” – but I don’t like the sound of it in my head.
It may well be that this dissatisfaction stems from the whole purpose of this self-improvement effort; but let’s face it, there’s more to the search for Megumi than just making myself look better (and, consequently, any temporary backsliding like this isn’t going to make much difference in that pursuit). Sure, if I had her at my side, I wouldn’t be like this, I suppose – especially since I’d have better things to do with my time than spending several hours each day at the gym – but that’s so much further off than this morning malaise about the number on my scale.
I do think I’ve got to do something about these thoughts – whether directed at myself or others – before then, though. You managed to look past the “know-it-all jerk” that you saw me as back in the day, but that lightning isn’t likely to strike twice; I don’t want Megumi to think that of me if I were to opine about anyone’s weight issues… even my own, such as they are.
With that in mind, though, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 