Waisting Away Again

I just came from the scale, where I weighed in.  206.9.  That’s how much I weigh today.  My favorite jeans are a size 16.  My favorite work trousers are a size 14.  I wear a size L shirt, but prefer an XL because…I do.  I like baggy tops.  Why am I telling you this?  Because it’s not a secret.

Yes, it’s time for another one of those posts about size because I was made acutely aware of mine once again tonight.  I am one secure woman, so if I was made to feel unsure about myself, it’s time for a reminder that weight only determines size, not worth.

Just to get health issues out of the way: My most recent blood work (2012) shows that I am exceptionally healthy.  I am nowhere near diabetes, and my cholesterol was even decent.  I am well within all the proper ranges for my age group, and at my last work-required physical, which included a mini stress test, I surprised the nurse with my stamina and strong heart.

Actually, I surprised her with my weight.  I stepped on the scale and she gasped, and said, “Oh!  You don’t look like you weigh that much!”  Recently, I had someone tell me I might be attractive, except for all “this”, and that person waved a hand up and down my torso.  Say what–did I even ask?  Tonight, a woman checked me out–actually walked a circle around me–and sneered at my stomach.  I want people like that to understand that their actions don’t say anything about me–I’m already all out there.  I own a mirror.  I own a scale.  I know what size I wear and exactly how I look in my clothes.  They aren’t saying anything about me that you don’t see when I’m crossing the street.  They aren’t adding anything to the conversation, save to inform their characters.

I weigh what I do for several reasons, none of them genetic or medical:

1. I love tacos.  And nachos.  And bacon sandwiches.  And Coca-Cola.  And chicken fried steak.  And I fully intend to eat food I like, along with fruits and vegetables, which I also love to eat.  Weight Watchers was great for a while, then it made me sad.  I would rather be fat than sad, and as long as Rosa’s is serving up their lard coated love, I will eat there.
2. I have had a very sedentary job for the past year, meaning I put back on the 25lbs I dropped walking stairs on my lunch breaks.  (My new office has stairs and a lot of great places to walk, and an hour lunch.  I expect my weight will fluctuate accordingly.)
3. I am not going to get up an hour earlier than I already do (I get up at 5:45 most mornings) to go jogging.  I’m just not.  And, I’m not going to go jogging in the dark.
4. I am also not going to take one of the precious 3 hours I get each night with Thor, and spend it on a treadmill.  Vogue can suck it.  I only have him for short years before he is off to college.  I have the rest of my life to do sit ups.
5. I am over 40, and it’s harder to lose weight now.  It used to be that I cut out Cokes and I’d lose 15lbs in 3 months–and that was all I needed to lose.  Now?  I cut out Cokes and I’m just thirsty.

I do not like weighing 206.9lbs.  I don’t.  That’s too much for me.  But I know that weight is a temporal thing, and subject to change, so I don’t get too fussed about it.  I work on myself in spurts.  While I am moving toward more activity (and am excited about that!), I don’t kick myself for my choices.

I don’t apologize for how I look.  I don’t need any outside validation.  I am awesome–just ask anyone who knows me.  Awesome.  And overweight.  And those two things have absolutely nothing to do with each other.