Will Vienna Wait For Me?

Just wanted to first give huge thanks for the comments and advice on Wednesday’s post.  I appreciate the advice.  It kinda hit me this morning when I weighed myself and the scale fluctuated each time I got on it (like, some weights made me go woohoo and then some made me go aaaaack, that much).  Does it REALLY matter what I weigh?  If my running keeps progressing nicely?  If all my clothes either continue to fit or get too big on me?  Maybe it ISN’T denial to not weigh myself often.

Same with the eating.  I was reading over my posts over the last few months and the biggest theme is “I’m eating in a way which would rationally and numerically make me lose weight, and I’m not *grrrrr*”.  Counting calories worked for me for so long and then it just DIDN’T.  I think I eeked out the last 15 lbs while skating the thin line between extreme diet mode and starvation mode, and it’s not a comfortable place to be.  I’m tired of it.  Thinking about it sends me into a temper tantrum.

So my inclination is to say fuck it.  No, my inclination is to scream FUCK IT from the highest mountain top I can find.  If the scale isn’t going to provide me with any useful feedback (apparently I weigh something between 153.0 and 159.0 this morning, heh), then fuck it.  It’s not worth my time.  If calorie counting isn’t providing me with any useful feedback, fuck it.  Apparently I maintain no matter whether I eat an average of 1400 and burn 3k calories per week or eat an average of 1900 and burn less.  Maddening.

I stopped calorie counting a few weeks ago, and I went back to it last week for a few days.  It just got under my skin.  Usually it’s no biggie, but it just pissed me off for some reason.  So I stopped again.  Right now, I’m just trying to trust my body to nourish itself properly.  And oddly enough, it’s working.  My size 6 super low rise jeans still fit.  I am enough of a big girl to go into the kitchen, serve myself healthy food I made, and stop when I’m full.  After 3 years, my eat watch is pretty much fixed.  It doesn’t take math to make me stop eating anymore, as long as I really pay attention.  Am I eating out of boredom?  Am I eating because I’m grumpy?  Am I eating because it’s there and I want to finish it?  If the answer is no and I’m hungry and I really truly want it, then it’s a valid reason.

Same with workouts.  It used to be fear motivating me, that I was going to get fat again if I didn’t work out.  Now… well, I guess it’s fear too but a different, better fear.  I am afraid of losing fitness progress.  I’m afraid of not being prepared for my next race.  I’m terrified of going back to being a wuss.  I am horrified at the idea of a 5k ever being a big deal.  I knew very early on that I’d have to move away from workouts simply for weight loss or I wouldn’t stick with it.  I am everlastingly thankful for running and races in that vein.  I can’t see a time when I won’t be actively pursuing getting harder, better, faster, stronger.

The problem is – that same thinking food-wise goes down a scary path that’s dangerous to follow.  I don’t want to go there.  So I need to come up with a good way to motivate myself.  This is where I need the most help.  I need to sit down and come up with goals that don’t go against my core values of how this healthy journey should be.  I refuse to avoid food groups.  I am a runner, I need my carbs.  Even some simple carbs.  My body has ALWAYS run on a carby tank.  I shut down creatively and functionally when I restrict them (even after months).  I refuse to have to avoid eating at parties and restaurants.  Zliten and I cook lunches and dinners together, so there is only so far I can take meals.  However, I’ve definitely made strides on what I eat outside mealtimes and will continue.  Next step is convincing myself fruit is a viable desert instead of chocolate.  Did it last night!

Even with all this strong talk, I’m terrified.  Giving up caring about the scale means I run the risk of gaining.  Giving up calorie counting means I run the risk of gaining.  Trusting myself after 3 years of triple checks and balances put in place to keep me safe in my little padded weight loss room?  Scary.  My track record is not very good – this is the longest I’ve ever kept weight off and I’m half convinced it’s only because I’m trying to lose.  If history repeats itself, I’ll be 300 lbs by next year.  I mean, my head is completely different and I’ve gone through so much mental shit and dealt with a lot of things over the last 3 years, but with the training wheels coming off and trusting myself to balance on my own?  Still frightened.

And then, there is that horrible fear that this is the best I’ll ever be.  That I’m not good enough right now, and this is the closest I’ll ever get.  Stupid brain!  I am a damn fine looking woman.  At my current weight.  I might not have that long lean look I covet, I might own some clothes that aren’t terribly flattering or from age 14 that don’t fit or whatever.  And maybe the solution instead of longing to be thin enough that everything looks good on me is to give away anything in my closet that doesn’t make me feel fabulous.

Maybe the lesson that I’ve been fighting here is not how to power past a plateau, but to learn how to accept myself here.  To come to terms that I don’t have to be perfect to be done.  That maybe it’s time to wrap up this year of beating my head against the proverbial weight loss wall and have a kinder, gentler 2010.  Where 153-155 is good enough.  Where all that matters is I have enough fuel in my tank to push through my long (and increasingly longer) runs.  Where I continue to work on eliminating the fat and building more muscle for the sake of sport.

It’s like planning a project here at work.  No matter what, things change, dates change, hell, sometimes the whole thing changes.  Three years ago, I just wanted to not be so fat.  Two years ago, I wanted to get down to my college weight of 170.  A year ago, I picked 135 as it seemed like a good idea.  Never in a million years did I have any idea that I’d be training for my second half marathon and have my sights on a full one.  Never did I think that I’d be rocking size 6s and smalls.

Maybe it’s not giving up to be the weight I am now.    I mean, it’s kinda nice to not have to buy a new wardrobe each season because nothing fits.  It would be nice to feel as if I’m there.  I know it’s just a head shift.  But it’s frightening to allow myself to feel good, to feel accomplished, to feel done.  Because that stupid voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that’s quitter talk.

I have some more thinking to do.  Perhaps I even have some experimenting to do.  But something just keeps telling me there is a lesson here that I’m not letting through.  Maybe I just need to realize that Vienna waits for me, and I just need to make the decision to go there.  I don’t want to look back on this time of my life as the period where I was amazing, but I didn’t give myself credit for it.  If I’m so damn smart, why am I so afraid?  I can’t be everything I want to be before my time (thought I want to so very badly).  I’ve got my passion and pride (in spades) – and my crazy side is saying only fools are satisfied.

Oh, Billy Joel.  Are you telling me that I can take my phone off the hook for 2010 and disappear from my crazy for a while?  It’s alright?  I can afford to lose a year or two to the pursuit of something besides a perfect figure?  Will Vienna still wait for me?

Less navel gazing next week.   Have a lovely weekend!