I have been away from home for five weeks. Three for work and two in the middle of that for vacation. And at some point, despite all my best intentions and attempts at environmental control and planning, I gave up.
The last two weeks have been especially difficult. I have lived in a dorm on the opposite coast with doctor’s orders to rest an injured leg. I ordered shakes and a shaker bottle to be delivered to my dorm and I brought all my physical therapy equipment along with some workouts I could do without aggravating my injury.
And every morning, I woke up and had a shake. Most mornings that was accompanied by fruit, and sometimes an egg. I did my physical therapy. I rarely did any other exercise. And I used my injury and exhaustion from travel as excuses not to try to do more.
Lunch and dinner started out okay the first couple of days. I would load up on veggies. I would make giant salads. I would figure out if there was a lower-calorie entree. And I would be full. But the longer I sat at the dining table during our extended meal breaks, the more often I would get up for second and even third servings of high calorie foods. Eventually I gave up on hitting the salad bar first. I.gave.up.
Then I flew home and attempted a half marathon. I knew I would be taking it easy but my injury flared (probably honestly from the weight I gained adding extra impact) and I walked the last five miles. So the next day, upon finally returning to my apartment, I stepped on the scale and faced the truth. And I added that truth to the truth of my previous semester.
At my lowest, I was 150lbs on the HMR scale. Tonight, the scale showed 188.9.
Back to the title. Because I probably owe some explanation to the rambling thoughts that have been racing through my head over the last several days.
I felt like a failure when I stepped on the scale in my apartment on Monday. I did not want to come back to class because I have managed to gain a significant amount of weight since transitioning to Phase Two. But rather than feed my emotions, I actually locked myself in my apartment (save for a trip to the dentist) for the last 48 hours in an attempt to figure out what has been going on and how I let myself get to this point. Let’s call it a personal intervention. I figured out many of my triggers. I journaled a plan for the next several weeks as well as a plan going into the school year. I cried. I binge-watched “Extreme Weight Loss” and prepared lots of veggie dishes (I had produce delivered – I didn’t trust myself in a grocery store right when I got home).
So I have plans going forward. I have reflections on my past. I even have a fridge stocked full of supportive food. But I still had not come to class. And this was causing some serious anxiety for me. I even considered feigning illness or exhaustion. Anything to avoid confronting my behaviors and the HMR scale.
But I showered. I got dressed. And I got in my car. And I drove myself to class an hour before it started because honestly I thought I might back out. I am ashamed of my behaviors and how I gave up on my healthy habits, but I also know I am human. I know through my previous classes that I needed to confront myself to stop the guilt-shame cycle. And I remember class as being a supportive environment that would help me as I face the obstacles ahead to lose the weight I found over the last seven months.
I didn’t want to come to class tonight. But I needed to come to class. And so I am here. Ready to learn. Ready to continue to work to better myself.