The running I’ve been doing has made my legs strong, lean and muscley. I realized this last week when my closet, in need of a good straightening, prompted me to tidy up and try on things that I hadn’t worn in ages. I was surprised that my Genetic Denim Shanes, the most perfect skinny jean on the planet, were tight on the thighs.
This compelled me to try on my litmus pants, a pair of Joe’s; trouser jeans with very little stretch. If I fit into those I’d know where I stood in the weight department without ever getting on the scale.
Horrified, I couldn’t get close to buttoning them up. But they fit in the legs so I guessed that they shrunk or maybe the running has completely changed my body shape.
The excuses turned into sad truths (yesterday afternoon) as I turned around to check the straps on an adorable bra, while locked in a very small dressing room. My opinion of dressing rooms is that they are infamous for bad lighting and mirrors too close to the body, which don’t give a person enough space to properly visualize the yay or nay. Nordstrom and Saks come close (generally bigger in size), but the lighting kills it. I’ve yet to come across a single dressing room where the image of my reflection matches exactly how I feel inside.
What I saw yesterday was the truth as only a bad dressing room mirror can hand to you. A good friend or sales girl wouldn’t dare. Even my mother would resist.
It didn’t come out and say, “You are fat!” It was worse.
It was the image of back rolls separated by the cuteness of a good bra, and then more fat rolls beneath, that didn’t smooth out as I stretched to make them go away.
Without words it said this, “Wake up Sister! All the running in the world will not make you slim if you continue to eat entire grocery store cakes (on the platters from whence they came) with a fork and no plate!”
My race is six weeks away.
It’s crazy sounding, but as I stood in that mirror all I could think about were race day pictures; not my time, not my exhaustion from carrying too much weight, not the thrill of victory as I kick 26.2 to the ground and stomp it hard.
This has been the cycle that food has played in my life. Every once in a while I get a glimpse of the truth and decide to take control of my fork to mouth response.
It’s a nuisance and I hate it. I like food and want to be able to eat what I want when I want it.
Today I have no choice but reboot the cycle and take some accountability.
I’m going to take it slow and be thoughtful about what I stick in my mouth. I am going to try to log my food into the calorie count app on my phone and am going to follow the “diet” that was given to me last Spring when my blood work came back pre-diabetic.
There was no chocolate cake on that food plan; no handfuls of goldfish, huge bowls of night-time ice cream, uneaten leftovers of my children’s pink sprinkled donuts, extra bowls of cereal to fend off the weakness of starvation. There’s no mention of “eating what I want” because I ran so far.
Just boring old food accountability.
Weight loss will most certainly be attained but it’s not going to taste great.
Good race day pictures, however, will be delicious!