Committed to My Big, Fat Butt

The word commit conjures up all sorts of memories of all the many, many, many times I have commited myself to a healthy lifestyle. I believe I just commited to one this very morning, as a matter of fact, but the cinnamon roll I just ate tells me I’ll need to recommit this afternoon. 

I’ve been trying to commit to lifestyle changes for years now. Sometimes I have good weeks. Sometimes I have good months. Sometimes I’m lucky to have a good day or even a good hour. I fucking love food. I love it. I wish I loved vegetables and quinoa and a little bit of lemon squeezed into a glass of water. I wish I loved the way it felt to be drenched in my own sweat and out of breath from a long workout. I wish I loved depriving myself of the things I enjoy but I don’t. I enjoy pizza. And sitting very still. And sleeping. And eating in bed. 

It’s hard to commit to something you don’t love. It’s even hard to commit to something you do love. That’s why so many marriages end in divorce. It’s also why tattoo removal is a thing. Commitment is hard and I am soft, metaphorically as well as literally.

Sometimes I feel like if I could just stop recommitting myself to being healthier, if I could just stop thinking about it for a little while, then I could start again fresh and maybe, just maybe my efforts would stick. It makes sense. I mean, I have tried and failed so many times to stay on track that it really does seem like a joke to me at this point. One minute I’m looking myself in the eyes and telling myself in the mirror, “You are not going to eat fast food for luncn today. You are going to start bringing your lunch. You are going to eat kale and you’re gonna fucking like it” The next minute I’m on my phone looking up copycat recipes for blooming onions.  

I am not taking myself seriously. After years of lying to myself and sabotaging myself, can you blame me? 

I really do think that If I just eased up on myself for a while it could help. If I just went a couple of weeks or maybe even A month just eating what I want, when I want, it might be the answer that I’m looking for. It isn’t lost on me that I never really needed to lose weight until I started trying to. When I was just living my life, eating when I was hungry, being active when it was fun, I was in the best shape of my life. I was also younger. I’m sure that helped. 

It does kind of make sense though, doesn’t it? Watching what you eat means thinking about what you’re going to eat. That means thinking about food. Thinking about food makes me hungry. Then I eat something that was not on the plan. Then the plans off. Then I console myself over my failure…with food.  

If I feel deprived of the food I want, it makes it sound even more delicious. If I’m trying not to drink Coke, for example, nothing sounds better than a Coke. Drinking a Coke can make me happy like nothing else can because I am treating myself. I’ve made the bad thing a treat instead of just a thing I don’t really care about. There is a big difference between treating yourself and loving yourself. Or at least there is the way that I do it. 

Maybe giving myself a break from always trying to eat and drink the right things is the solution I am looking for, at least temporarily. The very idea of not entering every calorie I eat into a calorie tracker or not counting my steps, or not planning my meals, or not hitting the gym at least three times a week fills me with terror. I don’t trust myself. I imagine I would just go crazy. Then I would have to be committed in a completely different way. I would be 51-50ed. 

Perhaps I wouldn’t though. Perhaps I would go back to the way I was as a teenager, when I would forget to eat dinner sometimes or if I was hungry I would make some kraft macaroni and cheese and just eat the whole box but then not eat again for the rest of the day because I wouldn’t be trying to micromanage every macronutrient. I just wouldn’t think about it at all. 

I don’t think I can risk it though. I’m not losing weight most of the time but I am maintaining and that’s better than nothing. I feel like if I took the chance and ended up going up a dress size or nudging myself over the line into “officially overweight”, I would lose my mind completely. 

I’ve always been very concerned with the big picture. I’ve never starved myself to be then because I know in the long run that just doesn’t work. I try to commit to little life changes that I can stick with for the rest of my life. The rest of my fat, sad life. It isn’t working. 

I’m going to go now. I’m very hungry. 

Bye. 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/commit/”>Commit</a&gt;