I have gained all kinds of weight since this summer. I was in a groove there for a while — riding my bike, taking classes at a neighborhood gym, running every now and then — but once the days started getting shorter and the weather turned grey and wet my entire routine fell apart. Add in that months-long eat-whatever-the-hell-I-want-as-if-there-are-no-consequences binge I went on (were there freshly baked cookies every single day in December? I believe there were), and let’s just say most of my clothes are currently gathering dust in the side of the closet while I wear the same pair of once-billowing jeans and yoga pants day in and day out, because nothing else fits.
God, I hate typing that. Every time I find myself in a really good place with diet and fitness, I have this sneaking suspicion that the REAL me is lurking just out of view. The real me doesn’t choose vegetables or cardio, she flops on the couch while mainlining pints of ice cream. I can keep her at bay for a while, but she always comes trundling back in, hitching at her pants because argh, muffin top.
Or maybe the real me is the fit and energetic one, and the lazy Haagen-Dazs addict is someone else entirely. Who knows, right? Geneen Roth would probably have some things to say about my stupid binary food/fitness habits and how it would probably help me in the long run to have some sense of moderation, but, well, the point is, I got tired of feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my own skin. Also, I don’t want to buy a new wardrobe.
So I’ve climbed back on the regular-exercise and sane-eating wagon again, and boy, it all sure feels familiar. I’ve done it a thousand times, it seems. Hell, I’ve written about it so many times I could probably just copy/paste the same entry every 18 months or so.
The worst part — I mean, the absolute most ridiculous, crazymaking, idiotic part of this endless cycle — is that after a couple weeks, I already feel a thousand times better. More clear, more positive, less frustrated, less languid. The creeping depression I attributed to January/February doldrums in the Pacific Northwest is gone. Mostly ditto to the flailing sense of career insecurity and second-guessing. I’m happier, goddammit. It’s the exact same revelation I’ve had over and over and over.