I have been… what I want to term lazy, but I feel like that’s too passive. I’m looking for something along the lines of self-destructive. Defiant. Something like that. I could have worked out - I had time, I had energy, but for whatever reason, I felt like saying fuck you (to myself??) and planting my ass on the couch. 

We walked around 8 miles on Saturday doing errands. I’ve tried a few random push-ups here and there among other random bits like I’ve done a couple (literally) sets of tricep dips and elevated push ups (not sure what they would be called - not with my feet raised, with my hands/body raised) on the arm of the couch. But other than that… ass+couch or ass+bed. Which resulted in me feeling like shit yesterday night. Awesome.

I am trying, right now, standing with my computer at my dresser - just to get myself off my ass (literally). The dresser’s the right height and I have the mat from our standing desk, but it still ends up kind of hurting my knees. I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m not used to it or if the pressure is actually detrimental. Oh well, still trying it because I have done a LOT of sitting lately.

I wrote this long post on Friday and then my mouse decided to pretend the left click was middle click (as it does) and close the tab. And something got corrupted with Tumblr’s autosave so it saved none of it. You would think after many, many years of writing in online journals (before most people called them blogs - “back in my day”), I would have learned to compose in something safer like Word, but no. I don’t like that. I have deleted many hours of typing by accident in my life.

In any case, I finally bought the scale on Friday. In my deleted post, I was rambling about my emotions related to that and blah blah blah, so I guess I will try and tap back into that. Ahem.

I think of myself as weighing 120-ish. A little under on a good day, a little over, not more than 125, probably more often than not. This is, however, based on the last point in my life when I had ready access to a scale - living at my parents’ in high school. I moved out when I was 18. I turn 27 in May. It’s been a while.

That said, I’ve been to the doctor since - I don’t remember most of my weights, except for right before I took my current job back in late 2007 which was 113. That is/was unusually low and most of my clothes were getting to be loose (or tight clothes actually fitting me) - mostly because I wasn’t eating enough. If I’m actually pragmatic (instead of the societal “ooh, so low!”) when I think about that, I do think it was nice to be that size (everything fit! and how!) but not necessarily that weight. If I pared down my body fat (which I truly believe is quite high now), would I be able to be closer to that? Regardless, I don’t aspire that much to being ever-thinner… but it is nice to be able to zip the skirts I like and own and not have my zippers bulge at the button.

When I was at my parents’ for Christmas, I stepped on their scale. 140. I tried it several days and times because, you know, there is no way that can be right. It may have come in at like 141 or 142 or something, but I don’t think it even ever read 139. There may or may not have been tears involved. Can I seriously be 20 pounds over “my weight”?

I remember, now, reading some weight tip about not deflecting to sweats and such just because you can - of course, as I stand here in cheerleader shorts, a tank top and a moth eaten sweater, I know that I have been shocked at the clothes that do not fit me. Didn’t I used to wear that purple skirt all the time? The one I can’t even pull over my hips unzipped? I tried to wear the high-waisted wool skirt out for errands and ended up thinking that I might need medical attention at Trade Joe’s (and ended up having to re”button” the skirt with the carabiner on my keychain - incidentally, the point at which I realized I needed to focus on eliminating the midnight cheese snacks, nightly bottles of wine and 24/7 of ass-on-the-couch time). I don’t want to wear out my normal clothes, but perhaps there is a downside to letting yourself get too comfortable.

It’s confusing - I don’t have many/any bikini photos or “before my befores” to tell if I actually look like I’m 20lbs over where I used to (should?) be. I do have some random measurements from 2009 when I was going through another “get fitter” phase (in cm, but converted): 36in bust, 28in waist, 38in hips. Compare to now (or rather the last measures I took): 37in bust, 27.5in waist, 38.5in hips. Factoring in a margin of error, water weight, etc. that seems the same to me. I went to the doctor in 2010 before we moved, but I don’t remember the scale weighing me in at 140. I think I would have remembered that. It could have been 130ish and I wouldn’t have blown a gasket, I guess. My guidepost has always been when I was having a really rough time Sophomore year of high school and was at about 135 - that is the most I ever remember weighing and I definitely felt “big.” 

Now… do I feel like that now? Honestly, yes. I feel like I can’t put my arms down properly - like they kind of float at the point of contact between the backs/inside of my arms and my back/armpits. Do my thighs touch? Yep. And I sometimes get rubbing/chafing where they do which I never remember getting before. The only thing I really remember about my thighs touching was being in middle school (this as probably 1998 or so) and a discussion between friends about if your thighs touched. I discovered that if I pushed my ankles and knees together they kind of did, but not standing normally. Is it fair to compare almost-27-year-old-me to 13-year-old-me? Not really, no.

The problem is, I don’t think my body is healthy with this type of extra padding - regardless of my age. It’s uncomfortable to stand properly with my thighs sticking together. I can’t really do tricep push-ups at all because my own flesh gets in my way. That’s weird. 

I have been told by many people over the years like that my body is beautiful how it is, by an ex-boyfriend about how he liked girls with curves (I can’t remember the exact wording or context - I believe this may have been when I was losing weight again coming out of my Sophomore slump/deathwish), and the whole “beautiful at any size” movement. I hate this, honestly. I get that there are plenty of women on earth who are destined to be curvier, to be bigger, to be unhealthy at lower weights. I am not one of those women. This is what happens when I act like a slug and sit on the couch all day. This is what happens when I eat a bunch of junk food and tend to my every hankering just because I can. This is what happens when I find myself weak and depressed and unhealthy.

This is not beautiful. Don’t embrace your flaws - don’t expand your flaws.

I should not sit on the couch all day. If I don’t, my body is not this shape. I should not have midnight cravings and eat a pile of cheese and deli meat and chocolate and ice cream. If I don’t, my body is not this shape. 

I don’t want to be “beautiful at any size.” I want to be healthy and less fatty and be able pick things up and put them down and move how I want to be able to move. Let me be ugly at this size - this is not the size my body wants to be.