In contemplating the many reasons for my diets (if you want to call them that) failing in the past, one of the biggest, IMHO (which is all that matters here on my blog) is the need, the necessity and the basic human compulsion to get results right away. By results, I don’t mean progress. I mean 60 pounds of excess weight gained over the course of 38 odd years being shed in nine days.
There’s something ingrained in the human mind–perhaps the result of genetic coding, perhaps with the advent of instant sea monkeys you can reconstitute as soon as you tear open the package–that makes us believe that if we do x for any extended period of time (and, by ‘extended period of time’, I mean longer than it takes a laptop to reboot), Y and Z will happen miraculously, instantaneously before our eyes. We can’t help it. We can’t fight it. Even if we say that we are patient, there are times we’re not. Even if we believe we’re in for the long hall, we still want a little bit o’that instant gratification we believe is our birthright.
It’s part of the reason I decided that my weight loss goal wasn’t even going to be met in this calendar year. When I went back and assessed (and obsessed) over why I haven’t lost and/or managed to keep off the weight before, that time factor came back to bite me in my very fleshy ass. It occurred to me that in setting my goals within a specific (read: short) time frame, I was unintentionally setting myself up for failure in one huge way–miss a target, give up on a goal. I’m an all-or-nothing thinker (something else I’m also working on this year) and to set a close (I even consider six months “close”) goal, I expected myself to have this absolutely 100% perfect start and continuation of my goals right out of the gate. I didn’t give myself any time whatsoever to adjust my bad habits into good ones. There was no room for experimenting, no room for really even reflecting. When I woke up in the morning, I had to work out. I could only eat salads. I must be in size 14s in two months. Those were ultimatums I gave myself for measuring progress but I didn’t give myself the tool–the mental adjustments and time–required to get there.
If I could have changed my behavior and habits that easily, don’t you think I would have?
I’m more about taking notice of the small things on this particular fat-burning journey. I’m enjoying taking my lunch to school in all my Ziplock containers. Finding fun in portion control. Feeling a sense of accomplishment by working out in 20 minute increments rather than a hunk of an hour. And observing the fact that my body is changing–ever so slightly–in the direction that I want.
Yesterday I had a day-long teacher’s meeting which equates to jeans and a sweatshirt. Normally I stuff myself into a pair of jeans and wear something long enough to hide the muffin top because, let’s face it, the only attractive muffin top is one with a pat of butter melting down the sides. Instead of the usual long sweater, at the suggestion of Stacy and Clinton, I chose something with a little bit of shape and a shorter hemline. (and because it was clean and because it was pink, but don’t tell Stacy. She’ll yell at me.) This seemed like a good choice until I’d been sitting for about two hours at the meeting and we got a potty break. I realized I’d not worn a belt–under normal circumstances, an activity to cause abject horror and blindness in anyone who witnessed a chunky girl in low-cut jeans (stupidest things invented, BTW. I only kept mine because I’m too cheap to throw them out) try to get herself and her muffin top back together incognito.
When I reached down to my waist line (as inconspicuously as a fat girl can fix her clothes) to fold up my waistband that had surely been flattened by my gut as usual, I was pleased to discover no rollover. The denim band holding my pants to my body had not been assaulted by my baby fat. (So what if the baby just turned 18?). My pants were still happy. I could stand up from the chair in my shorter fleece and jeans and not be petrified every eye was on my gut and my rearranging myself to get presentable again.
And that was just the kind of progress I needed. Sure, it’d be nice to fit into a size 10 for my sorority’s 20 year reunion on Saturday night, but I’ll take the little bits of progress I can find here and there. Besides, I’d have had to start in December to lose those 60 pounds by this weekend….
Hah, I loved this article. It is so true, we want everything now-and why didn’t it is usually my question when it doesn’t. And I love the jeans rolling down, man such truth it was hillarious.