I have always had the perfect figure for someone born in the 1500's. I've got an hourglass frame complete with a full bust, comparatively smaller waist and generous Rubenesque bum. I've got a round face and can definitely pinch an inch (or two). This would have been ideal for the cover of Farthingale Weekly, but unfortunately in 2009, my current shape just translates to 'chubby'.
And well it should. As I type this, I am sitting next to an EMPTY package of Whole Foods 365 Sandwich Creme Cookies. Ever since my daughter was born a year ago, my appetite for sweets has taken on whole new proportions. As has my poor unsuspecting body. I suppose I could try to blame it on my PCOS, recently diagnosed hypothyroidism, or the stress and hectic schedule that comes along with being a new mum, but that wouldn't be fair. I mean, I wasn't always like this.
I've never been considered thin (except for once - which I will elaborate on in a moment). But, by the same token, I've never been considered fat either. Even now, at very near my heaviest, I am lucky enough to be well-proportioned which makes it easier to hide my extra inches in strategically chosen clothing. That aside, however, I have always struggled with my weight. For as long as I can remember, I've hovered around a size 12 and have never felt comfortable with my shape and size. Except for once.
About 8 years ago, just before I married my husband, I spent the year prior learning how to be a runner. I remember hearing somewhere that "nothing tones a body faster than running," so I decided to give it a try. Within about 6 months, I was running 5-10 miles a day, 6 days a week. I felt fit, strong, and full of energy. My newfound fitness led to a holy host of what I considered then to be healthful dietary changes (though looking back I wouldn't consider my diet at that time to be necessarily healthy). I barely ate any fat at all. I swapped all the sugar in my diet for artificial sweetener. My daily afternoon snack consisted of a Diet Coke and a handful of Rold Gold pretzels.
But damnit, I looked good. I remember my weight getting as low as 129 (and of course, even then, I still felt like I should be 5 pounds lighter). It was the first and last time that anyone ever called me thin. And I looked great in my wedding dress. I've often wondered what my life would be like if I'd managed to maintain that weight.
And now, 8 years later, with carelessness, fertility treatments, pregnancy and age (literally) under my belt, I find myself out of shape, lethargic and chubby. I'm not sure how I got here, but I'm not happy. I am uncomfortable in my own skin, let alone my size 14 clothing. I know I can do better than this. I owe it to my daughter, and to myself.
Growing up, my own mum always struggled with her weight. It was hard for her; running her own business and taking care of two young kids meant that she always put herself last. I don't want to set that kind of example for my daughter. I want her to know that her mum values herself and her health. I want to keep up with her as she races around the playground. I want to take her kayaking, biking, and hiking. I want to meet her kid's kid's kid. I want her to be proud of me. I want to be proud of me.
This blog is therapy for me. And it's the first step in realizing my goal. I've got a plan. I've got ideas. And I know I can do this.
Goodbye sweets, hello La Dolce Vita.