Was it just nine months ago that I lamented on this blog that my pants no longer fit after a summer of lazing and lounging by the lake?
You may recall that, at that point, I determined that in the coming months, I would move my body more—in an effort to once again squeeze myself back into my pants.
Well, I am an enthusiastic starter and let me tell you, once the kids started back at school, I started walking, and—thanks to the accountability offered by a friend—began yoga. I was optimistic and ready to change my life! Or, at least the size of my pants!
Fast forward nine months.
I had a sobering run-in with my closet this past weekend. I needed a dress to wear to a Gala, our girls’ swim club wrap-up event. You can imagine my dismay when, dress after dress, each one I pulled out and tried on was just a little bit (or, in some cases, a LOT) too snug.
Instead of LOSING pounds and inches, I’ve GAINED weight since the fall.
Just wait here and excuse me while I drown my sorrows in a piece of cheesecake.
Ah, and therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?
In line with my “strong starter, poor finisher” tendencies it didn’t take long for my outdoor walking to cease. In Calgary, once the cold weather hits, I tend to move indoors and start bulking up for the long, frigid winter ahead. Never mind that I DO have a treadmill. That’s besides the point. Hush.
But what about the yoga? I know you’re wondering.
THAT has been a highlight of the winter, a twice-weekly date and catch up with a wonderful friend. But we both conceded that our once a week Core class (which was HARD!) and the once a week Yin class (which was positively relaxing and lovely) was not enough to combat the eating and lack of exercise that was taking place on the days in between classes.
Just as we agreed to forego the Yin for another killer class (SCULPT! – it just sounds hard, doesn’t it?) my kids got sick, and then I got sick, and then suddenly a month has passed since I’ve done any exercise at all.
And here’s the kicker…
There are some stupid things I’ve done since being diagnosed with cancer. It’s amazing what that little word can do to a perfectly rational, functional brain.
(I’ve actually got a blog post started about this topic, because it is ridiculous in so many ways, but for the purposes of this post, I’ll share this one.)
You would THINK that when one learns they have cancer, the logical thing to do is to get yourself as healthy as possible so that your body can channel its energy into fighting and healing, right?
What did I do? EAT!
It was almost like a pity party at first.
Dessert? Why yes, I have cancer, of course I’ll take dessert!
Life’s too short to not eat dessert, right?
Wine? Of course I’ll have wine.
Life’s too short to not enjoy wine, right?
Second helpings? Yes please!
Whatever the indulgence, I allowed it. As though, somehow, it would make me feel better about the fact that, as of that moment, I was officially dying.
Which is ridiculous, I KNOW. We’re all dying by degree, aren’t we? And I still have time. It’s not like I’m headed out the door tomorrow.
Well, and even if I was, would it matter? Is that good enough reason to over-indulge?
So, now it’s all caught up with me and it’s biting me in the pants; the very ones that don’t fit.
Those 100 per cent cotton sausage-casing shorts are still in my drawer. Even my stretchy North Face long shorts, which I’ve taken comfort in on days when I’m bloated, are bulging at the pockets on a good day.
And it’s almost June. Oh, what’s a girl to do?
Get off her butt, that’s what!
So, here we go again. My family is almost back to full health – not 100 per cent – but close enough that I sent the girls back to school on Thursday last week.
I’ll be back to yoga tomorrow and Thursday – the HARD classes (yikes!).
And for the days in between?
Moving my body and NOT over-indulging my self-pity. And, as always, focusing on the finish, not the start. I KNOW I need to take care of myself while I’m here, so that I can continue to be here for longer.
And, if I can get my pants to fit again, my husband will be pleased that an entirely new wardrobe isn’t required.
I’m smart enough to know what I need to do. In my lament about my plight to my husband, his advice was “Moderation in all things.” But, I’m an “all or nothing” kind of gal, so moderation is actually quite difficult. I know he sees my extreme nature. Bless his heart for not trying to “fix” me – though some days I imagine he wishes he could.
So, if you see me, feel free to ask how it’s going, because perhaps the fear of accountability will propel me farther than my own expectations of myself. (Which, admittedly, are a little lower than they should be.)
Whatever it takes.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Right now, I’m going for a walk.