Last week, when I went for my annual girlie appointment, I had gained 7 lbs from the previous year's visit.
To say that this fact is now taking up valuable real estate in my brain is an understatement.
I am, more or less, obsessing.
I'm not overweight, which many people would say precludes me from being able to fret about this 7 lb gain.
Those people, if they are reading this post, should probably stop reading now.
Because I am fretting about this 7 lbs.
I weigh 148 lbs.
My BMI is 23.2.
Totally "healthy."
Totally normal weight.
My doctor told me not to worry about it.
But I am worried about it.
Because I cannot gain 7 lbs every year.
I am this close to 45-years-old.
And I have been slacking off on my health.
In one sense, that is the good part. That I have allowed myself to not worry about what I'm eating or how much I'm exercising.
That is also the bad part.
And now, I'm in the anxiety part.
I began fretting over my weight, in one form or another, in 2003, when I was pregnant with N and developed gestational diabetes. When I was put on a super strict diet and lost 7 lbs during my pregnancy. When I began walking 45 minutes every single day on the treadmill.
The day I delivered N, I weight 141 lbs.
The day I came home from the hospital, I weighed 120 lbs.
Between breastfeeding and walking nonstop on the treadmill, I dropped even more weight.
Six months later, I weighed 112 lbs.
When I began not eating as a result of depression, being 112 lbs was not a good thing.
My therapist at the time (prior to medication) asked me if I had an eating disorder, and I guess in some sense I did.
When you are obsessive, you find things to obsess about.
Gradually, with medication and therapy, my weight increased.
Two healthy-weight pregnancies followed.
After M was born, my mid-section bothered me, so I began working out regularly.
My mid-section dropped to 29 inches.
Over the years, it has increased to 33 inches.
Partly, this is due to working more and not having the energy to want to work out.
Plus, I began to snack more and have an occasional adult beverage more than just one night a week.
(When you drink good full-calorie beer, having an extra 1 or 2 a week can make a difference.)
I'm also not lifting 25 lb kids all day long, as I once was.
So I am refocusing on my health, which I hope will result in the loss of the 7 lbs.
Perhaps not all 7, but maybe 5?
I'm having to fight the urge to buy a scale (which I haven't owned in years).
Because I'm already obsessing; I don't need to buy tools for my home that will help me obsess more and better.
I'm having to tell myself that cutting out chips and after dinner snacks and walking every day and increasing my strength training will probably be "good enough."
I wish I could burn calories by obsessing.
To say that this fact is now taking up valuable real estate in my brain is an understatement.
I am, more or less, obsessing.
I'm not overweight, which many people would say precludes me from being able to fret about this 7 lb gain.
Those people, if they are reading this post, should probably stop reading now.
Because I am fretting about this 7 lbs.
I weigh 148 lbs.
My BMI is 23.2.
Totally "healthy."
Totally normal weight.
My doctor told me not to worry about it.
But I am worried about it.
Because I cannot gain 7 lbs every year.
I am this close to 45-years-old.
And I have been slacking off on my health.
In one sense, that is the good part. That I have allowed myself to not worry about what I'm eating or how much I'm exercising.
That is also the bad part.
And now, I'm in the anxiety part.
I began fretting over my weight, in one form or another, in 2003, when I was pregnant with N and developed gestational diabetes. When I was put on a super strict diet and lost 7 lbs during my pregnancy. When I began walking 45 minutes every single day on the treadmill.
The day I delivered N, I weight 141 lbs.
The day I came home from the hospital, I weighed 120 lbs.
Between breastfeeding and walking nonstop on the treadmill, I dropped even more weight.
Six months later, I weighed 112 lbs.
When I began not eating as a result of depression, being 112 lbs was not a good thing.
My therapist at the time (prior to medication) asked me if I had an eating disorder, and I guess in some sense I did.
When you are obsessive, you find things to obsess about.
Gradually, with medication and therapy, my weight increased.
Two healthy-weight pregnancies followed.
After M was born, my mid-section bothered me, so I began working out regularly.
My mid-section dropped to 29 inches.
Over the years, it has increased to 33 inches.
Partly, this is due to working more and not having the energy to want to work out.
Plus, I began to snack more and have an occasional adult beverage more than just one night a week.
(When you drink good full-calorie beer, having an extra 1 or 2 a week can make a difference.)
I'm also not lifting 25 lb kids all day long, as I once was.
So I am refocusing on my health, which I hope will result in the loss of the 7 lbs.
Perhaps not all 7, but maybe 5?
I'm having to fight the urge to buy a scale (which I haven't owned in years).
Because I'm already obsessing; I don't need to buy tools for my home that will help me obsess more and better.
I'm having to tell myself that cutting out chips and after dinner snacks and walking every day and increasing my strength training will probably be "good enough."
I wish I could burn calories by obsessing.
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