themoderationmovement

[themoderationmovement]

3/20/17

I’m tired.

Tired of thinking that I have to haul off and eat some super-clean diet. Tired of believing that, for some god-forsaken reason, I have to be “hot.” And what that entails are hours weekly of me trying to shave off fat and sculpt muscle.

What for??

Is it essential to my life that my protein intake is high enough to support muscle growth, in that sweet-spot before kidney issues start?

Because that’s where I was.

In September I was in the throws of a full pelvic panic. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Yeast? Stones? Pelvic Inflammatory Disease? Dryness? I took almost 2 months, several prescriptions, and a lot of soul searching to get to the bottom of what was happening. 

A pause.

I’m 38. This is important to say, I think. Because I am not 28. Or 18. But, that is what I was under the impression that I was.Some folks might think that I am headed towards a alcohol-and-hard-living story. Quite the opposite. I was where you end up when you become nearly obsessed with perfect health, or the perception of it.  This meant that I was definitely dealing with some body dysmorphia, which at 38 years old is definitely possible. You just don’t read about it as much. I was so very careful, controlling my macronutrient balance so that I could maintain my weight and fitness, and “look.”

What happened? I started a new job, shifted my schedule, and now I was under stress. I was worried about gaining weight, losing my “look.” (I cringe writing that now, btw. But it’s real.) I started to hyper clean my diet, try and cram in intense working out around my new, and more intense, job. I threw everything out of whack. But it already was out of whack.

It took this incident to make me see that my previous mode was not sustainable. If all it took was a job change to land me in the doctor’s office constantly for 2 months, then something bigger was going on. And a note - it’s really hard to explain to a doctor that you are in pain and something is really wrong, when you appear to be in perfect shape. The operative word here is appear.

I used to be a bit overweight several years ago. What once was a gradual weight loss turned into a panicked race to maintain. I had created this fitness routine, that turned into a delicate balance, that developed into image issues. I was associating my value directly with the way I looked. Specifically, my weight and proportions. 

When I got the new job in July, I was psyched. But I soon realized that I could not do my 4-5 time a week 2+ hour workouts, with “off day” HIIT. I tried to keep up for the summer, but once September hit, I had run myself into the ground. And then the pelvic stuff. I’ve always been pretty healthy, so this drove me NUTS. The fact that it took so long to diagnose, made me crazy. The pain and physical irritation were nothing to pass off, either. What was it? It was everything. It was yeast, it was a bladder infection, it was ureter inflammation, you name it. My hormones were off, everything couldn’t adjust.

Maybe if I were 10 years younger, I could have adjusted to a new job and kept up with a super demanding fitness routine. But I am now convinced, as I get older, I will end up hurting myself more if I do not cut that shit out and adopt a mentality of moderation. That’s what this is all about. Shedding the distressful feeling that if you don’t go all in on something, that it’s not worth it.

For me, it’s being okay with walking as exercise. It’s knowing that eating ice cream is not eating knives. It’s working on understanding why, as a 38 year old woman going on 39, I feel that I have to “look” a certain way. And that it is absolutely 100% okay if I don’t get there.  

I went from a very labor intensive 127 lbs to a very joyful 142. I eat bagels now. BAGELS. I still get my 5 a-day fruits and veggies, but, guys, BAGELS. I walk. I still wear my Fitbit. My job has me moving around all day. I am tired at the end of the day, after work and chores. So I read. I watch tv. And I am here to tell you that no one has lit me on fire or made me put a bag over my head. In fact, the only one who has been affected by this change is me. I am happy. 

I also know that it is work. I have days where I fight myself. I start to think that if I just started lifting heavy 3 days a week I could... I could... what? Do what? Get what? I reassess my situation, assure myself that I am taking good care of myself and that adding more is not necessarily better.

It’s a moderation movement.