*Week Three, Day One

Here I am, a little under a week from my last post. I'm happy to say that it wasn't because of my awesome ability to quit things. We weren't able to get to gym due to vacation. 
So as I was getting back into the swing of things, I replayed the parts of my vacation that made me cringe. 

Not having any pants that fit me comfortably and feeling pissed off and embarrassed that I didn't want to go anywhere because that meant putting on real pants. And the absolute worst part: family pictures. I've always hated pictures, but I especially loathe them now - for obvious reasons. But with my in-laws, it's even worse because my sister in laws and mother in law are skinny, blonde and gorgeous and here I am, the fat Rollie Pollie Ollie in the middle. It's not their fault, but the difference in our body types is so stark, I hate getting pictures taken with them.

I cover up my insecurity and self-loathing with humor and self-deprecation. Jokes about my weight and my famous "double chin" that I'm sure everyone is tired of hearing. But if I make fun of myself first, then it won't hurt as badly if someone else does it. As Lena Dunham said on Girls:

No one could ever hate me as much as I hate myself, okay? So any mean thing someone’s gonna think of to say about me, I’ve already said to me, about me, probably in the last half hour!

So after the picture debacle, I felt like a tub of lard the entire day. I promised myself that when I got home, I would double my efforts to lose weight. 

And here's another red flag, because you know what? These posts are evidence that I've been trying. That I've been getting my ass up and doing it even though I've wanted to quit. But instead of recognizing that I've been doing more than just sitting on my ass, I berate myself because I'm not doing enough. Surely, if I were better, doing more, trying harder my efforts would be rewarded in the shape of (or lack thereof) weight.

I was at the halfway mark when I decided to try and let the weekend go. I tried to forgive myself for the self-loathing. For the way I beat myself up.

And by the last run when my app said I was done, I told myself good job and remembered that once again, I got up and did the work, even though I could have slept in.

I'm proud of me. 


*It is, in fact, Week Three, Day One of working out - but I'm repeating Week 2 of C25K as I didn't feel that I was ready to move on to week 3 yet, especially after not being in the gym for almost a week. That's okay though - it's better than not doing it at all, right?