Had my first fitness progress check in ages yesterday. I found it heartening, but ultimately anti-climatic.
The good news…
I have lost 16 pounds of fat.
I have gained 5 pounds of muscle
I’ve lost about 5 inches from my waist and that’s with the usual mid month bloat.
I can do 100 squats with flawless form albeit labored breathing by the 60-something mark.
I am almost at the norm for ab strength, quite an accomplishment given 25 crunches on the ball used to damn well near kill me.
I did a push up test and am in the “good” range. It’s the first time in my life I’ve been classified as “good” at anything remotely athletic.
On the frustrating side…
I’m still in the 200s weight wise. I am less than 10 pounds away from being out of “the twos” and it’s immensely annoying to still be there after working so hard for nearly a year.
I am this close to a size 14. Not bad considering I used to be a 20, but again, 14 is decidedly back in the land of normal and I’d like to definitively be there, versus still having a muffin top when I wear size 14 pants.
I’m not comfortable wearing dresses or skirts just yet. I still feel like my legs are too chunky. I would love to wear dresses and skirts and high heels again.
It’s not that I don’t feel I’ve made progress, quite the opposite. The day-to-day of my life feels completely different. So many things are easier and my workouts have been a great source of solace in the past year. At least three times a week, I carve out time for myself and usually I have to be so engaged in what I’m doing that I don’t have time to be concerned about anything other than the next rep. It’s a great mental release from my thoughts about a person or pet that has died, or the next thing at work I need to get completed.
I guess the reason there’s no “ta da!” here is that I’ve made fitness more a part of who I am and what I do versus being a goal to achieve in and of itself. It’s not as if you lose all the weight you want to lose, or get back into that little black dress and then you’re done. There is always the next challenge, the next target to hit.
I’ve been amazed at what my body has been capable of and how it’s improved. I remember when a 3.0 walking pace on the treadmill used to make my lower legs acidic with pain. Now I bang out 4 minutes of running at 5.3 to warm up and think nothing of it. It’s not easy, but it’s not ridiculously hard either.
I guess fundamentally, I’m proud of myself. I’m proud that I’ve gone through what I’ve gone through the past year and didn’t stop trying to improve myself. Other than a week’s illness, a week’s vacation and a couple of really tired days, I have worked out a minimum of three times a week consistently, and that’s with an iron deficiency and trying to get a sleep disorder remedied. That ain’t too shabby.
Still as Willy Russell would say, there are “better songs than this” to sing.
I’d like to continue my training to the point where I don’t need a trainer anymore and can train myself .
I want to walk into a clothing store and not worry about whether anything will fit or not. A couple of weeks ago I experienced the sheer joy of putting something back on the rack because I thought it was too expensive, not because I knew it wouldn’t fit.
I want to get an agent and do voice over work full time.
My first trainer was right. You are always stronger than you think. It hasn’t been easy going to my fitness club looking the way I have and still do. I still feel judged. It’s the essential irony of being overweight. I think people, particularly men, view you as out of control and not really having your shit together or being able to take care of yourself.
I’ve exhausted myself the past decade trying to take care of myself. Having to be in the world as an overweight person has given me reservoirs of emotional endurance and independence of which others can only dream. The only difference between me and an alcoholic, workaholic, whatever-holic is that the toll life is taking is written on my body. Try holding down a job chronically sleep deprived. It’s not exactly the domain of scatterbrained pussies.
If intention and discipline were all it took to lose weight, I’d be anoxeric by now. The difference this time around is that I have continued to make my intention actionable. I kept going no matter what, and that is what has made all the difference. I decided last year to take my life back and I have.
I remember my current trainer telling me at the beginning of our working together, that small dietary changes and the consistency of working out combined with time will always bring results. He was absolutely right.
I’m going to start fine tuning things. I want to see what else I can do.
The good news…
I have lost 16 pounds of fat.
I have gained 5 pounds of muscle
I’ve lost about 5 inches from my waist and that’s with the usual mid month bloat.
I can do 100 squats with flawless form albeit labored breathing by the 60-something mark.
I am almost at the norm for ab strength, quite an accomplishment given 25 crunches on the ball used to damn well near kill me.
I did a push up test and am in the “good” range. It’s the first time in my life I’ve been classified as “good” at anything remotely athletic.
On the frustrating side…
I’m still in the 200s weight wise. I am less than 10 pounds away from being out of “the twos” and it’s immensely annoying to still be there after working so hard for nearly a year.
I am this close to a size 14. Not bad considering I used to be a 20, but again, 14 is decidedly back in the land of normal and I’d like to definitively be there, versus still having a muffin top when I wear size 14 pants.
I’m not comfortable wearing dresses or skirts just yet. I still feel like my legs are too chunky. I would love to wear dresses and skirts and high heels again.
It’s not that I don’t feel I’ve made progress, quite the opposite. The day-to-day of my life feels completely different. So many things are easier and my workouts have been a great source of solace in the past year. At least three times a week, I carve out time for myself and usually I have to be so engaged in what I’m doing that I don’t have time to be concerned about anything other than the next rep. It’s a great mental release from my thoughts about a person or pet that has died, or the next thing at work I need to get completed.
I guess the reason there’s no “ta da!” here is that I’ve made fitness more a part of who I am and what I do versus being a goal to achieve in and of itself. It’s not as if you lose all the weight you want to lose, or get back into that little black dress and then you’re done. There is always the next challenge, the next target to hit.
I’ve been amazed at what my body has been capable of and how it’s improved. I remember when a 3.0 walking pace on the treadmill used to make my lower legs acidic with pain. Now I bang out 4 minutes of running at 5.3 to warm up and think nothing of it. It’s not easy, but it’s not ridiculously hard either.
I guess fundamentally, I’m proud of myself. I’m proud that I’ve gone through what I’ve gone through the past year and didn’t stop trying to improve myself. Other than a week’s illness, a week’s vacation and a couple of really tired days, I have worked out a minimum of three times a week consistently, and that’s with an iron deficiency and trying to get a sleep disorder remedied. That ain’t too shabby.
Still as Willy Russell would say, there are “better songs than this” to sing.
I’d like to continue my training to the point where I don’t need a trainer anymore and can train myself .
I want to walk into a clothing store and not worry about whether anything will fit or not. A couple of weeks ago I experienced the sheer joy of putting something back on the rack because I thought it was too expensive, not because I knew it wouldn’t fit.
I want to get an agent and do voice over work full time.
My first trainer was right. You are always stronger than you think. It hasn’t been easy going to my fitness club looking the way I have and still do. I still feel judged. It’s the essential irony of being overweight. I think people, particularly men, view you as out of control and not really having your shit together or being able to take care of yourself.
I’ve exhausted myself the past decade trying to take care of myself. Having to be in the world as an overweight person has given me reservoirs of emotional endurance and independence of which others can only dream. The only difference between me and an alcoholic, workaholic, whatever-holic is that the toll life is taking is written on my body. Try holding down a job chronically sleep deprived. It’s not exactly the domain of scatterbrained pussies.
If intention and discipline were all it took to lose weight, I’d be anoxeric by now. The difference this time around is that I have continued to make my intention actionable. I kept going no matter what, and that is what has made all the difference. I decided last year to take my life back and I have.
I remember my current trainer telling me at the beginning of our working together, that small dietary changes and the consistency of working out combined with time will always bring results. He was absolutely right.
I’m going to start fine tuning things. I want to see what else I can do.
1 comments:
You should be proud of you. You are doing great.
Post a Comment