I have come to the conclusion that I am living in a lie. I have turned to many different sources for the truth, and yet not one can give me the same answer. In fact the answers I get directly contradict one another. It comes down to only one answer that can be true; I am being lied to.
Monday morning I woke up and was immediately greeted with a rather dull yet persistent pain in my everything. I was being very notably reminded that I am not as young as I once was. Although every time I watch the under 18 cast members run around with seemingly limitless energy and enthusiasm I have to question if I was ever actually that young.
It was clear to me that simply taking a handful of pain killers and drinking a few gallons of water was not really going to do the trick. I was going to have to do something more for the radiating ache that filled my body. I was going to have to do something a little kinder to myself. I decided going to the gym and soaking in the jacuzzi was a fabulous solution to my problem.
That evening as I was standing in the locker room changing my eyes fell on the scale in the corner. My nemesis. It sat there staring at me. Mocking me. I haven't stepped on it since before workshops began. It had nothing nice to say to me two months ago and I was certain it would say something discouraging to me now. It always seems to.
Of course I have no one to blame but myself. I have been less than good of late. My diet has been full of things that are in no way good for me. Most of the things I have been eating fall into the 'easy' and 'convenient' categories. Nothing good comes from those two food groups, mostly just things that involve drive thru windows and more calories than I should ever eat.
I have also been incredibly sedentary during the week. Weekends I am insanely active. Monday through Friday I am in recovery mode. There is a lot of sitting still. There is a lot of not wanting to do anything at all. Or having too much to do, all of which involves sitting still for hours at a time.
Add in that some nice high stress levels and it is a recipe for weight gain. I knew that the scale would say ugly things because I knew I had gained weight. All of my clothes are fitting tighter. My fat jeans are feeling tight, my shirts are starting to pull a little around the stomach, my rings are becoming more difficult to remove in the evenings.
I also can see myself in the mirror. I can see that my face is a little rounder these days than it has been in a while. I catch myself in profile in the mirror and just cringe. There seems to be a greater circumference than I have been sporting in the last year.
Then faire pictures start popping up and I just cringe. I can't help but to want to delete them all. My neck looks as thick as a linebackers in some of these shots. I swear I look like Gypsy the Hut. It is not attractive in any way. It is very discouraging.
Of course I have people constantly telling me that I look wonderful. I am told on a weekly basis by someone how great I am looking. They make comments about how I am shrinking. They talk about how I am starting to look thinner. I have sort of come to the conclusion that they just aren't really looking at me, or keep forgetting what I look like now and are thinking of what I looked like two years ago.
So there I stood in the locker room staring at the scale. I knew what it was going to say so I didn't see a reason to actually go and depress myself with a number that would make me want to cry. I could just be happy with the evidence I already had that it was true.
Of course I am a glutton for punishment. Also I need a number to know how far I have slipped and how far I have to go to get back to where I was. I told myself now is as good a time as any. Besides I will weigh more with my bathing suit full of water in an hour so I might as well get it over with.
I stepped up on the scale and began fidgeting with the slider pushing it past where I was in early February. I jumped it up ten pounds hoping that was as far as I would have to go. If it was more than ten I think I might have just cried and gotten off the scale.
To my happy surprise the bar dropped telling me I had put too much weight on the slider. I slowly began to nudge it back toward the lower weights. It didn't budge. I nudged it some more, and then some more, and then even more.
Finally it began to even out. When the bar came to a stop at last I was a little shocked by what I was looking at. I had to check the numbers three times to make sure I was reading it right. I have a bad habit of reading the scale ten pounds heavier or lighter than it really is on first glance. I had to accept in the end that the scale said what I thought it did.
I have not gained a single pound in the last two months. I have also not lost a single pound in the last two months. I was exactly the same weight I was when I weighted myself last. All the bad eating and stressing and sedentary weeks have come out to no change whatsoever.
I am the same weight and yet I have proof I am fatter. Perhaps I am just fluffier that I was two months ago. Perhaps my clothes have all shrunk. Perhaps my mirror has warped. Perhaps I need glasses more desperately than I thought I did.
I really have no explanation for it. I just have frustration and tight jeans, and not in a flattering way. I suppose all I can really do is eat a salad and do some squats until I am happy with myself, and my jeans.