Let’s just jump right in.
◊ First lets address a small concern a few of you have:
As I hope you have already seen, the blog/company is still a work in progress. Pages aren’t complete, there aren’t workouts uploaded yet, and I haven’t listed out coaching packages.
I know, I know, just take a deep breath and stay with me here.
All of that is currently in the making!
I want to coach you to eat doughnuts and lift heavy weights
just as much as probably more than you want to be coached, but there are just a few more things to research and videos to record before we get there.
But lets let me do this legally, alright?
I wouldn’t get you all hyped up about the endless possibilities for nothing.
I told you before that I would never lie to you, and I stand by that.
I pinky promise!
Alright, now that we all feel better, have taken our deep breaths and maybe even went to the gym to burn off some of the anticipation stress (I feel your pain), lets talk.
This Thursday I’m throwin’ it all the way back to my honeymoon and my skinny-fat self (NOT derogatory, JUST a descriptive term to show the difference between being skinny & fit vs. skinny & fat).
Wedding planning was hell. I have never been so stressed or crazy in my life.
I was a hot mess and a half to put it nicely.
To put it in perspective: Do you remember that pretty little fit brunette with the minion in my “The Doughnut behind the Deadlift” section? Well, she told me she was scared to speak to me. Probably a good call, but when your best friend from way back when tells you that you’re terrifying, that should probably be a wake up call.
Along with a trillion other things I was obsessed with fitting into my wedding dress, as is every bride to be. I had my dress fitted, loved it, then went back in to make sure it was perfect and it was tight. Not their mistake, but mine. I had gained a little weight. It was probably only a pound or two. Probably just a combination of stress, water retention, and a few
zillion glasses of wine but that didn’t matter to me. I balled. For the record, I am NOT a crier. I basically vowed then to stop eating (if you only knew how much I eat now!) all to avoid having the dress taken back out (to the original size!!). Is anyone starting to see the crazy yet??
I obsessed so hard that for the entire week leading up to my wedding I only ate juice and raw fruits & veggies (not bad, but I obsessed, which is bad). Did I mention I was a hot mess?
I got down to 151 pounds (my typical is ~165) and I felt amazing in my dress. It was even a little bit big come wedding day. It hugged my curves in all the right places and I was so proud of myself. But looking back, what was I proud of myself for? Becoming a slave to the scale and a dress size? Having the endurance to only eat raw fruits and veggies? Hitting my goal? Sure, it all worked out in the end but I wish I wouldn’t have been so hard on myself.
I wish I would have listened to my loved ones when they told me to relax.
I wish I would have known then what I know now.
And most of all, I wish I had the mindset then that I do now.
Dresses are made to be altered. So what if it had to be taken back out. None of that should have mattered, but I had a meltdown anyways.
The point here is that in the moment you never realize how cruel you are being to yourself. Only looking back can you truly see how much you let the scale or a dress (or anything else) affect you. We let little things like this run us down and tear us apart when what we are really doing is bullying ourselves. We would never let someone else do this to us, so why do we do it to ourselves?
The ridiculous answer:
Because we are taught to. Scales are promoted as the way to track your progress and any small deviation away from you goal is bad bad bad. We are conditioned to give ourselves a beating based off of the number on the scale and for years and years now we never second guessed that. We teach our children that the number matters. We make fake promises of a better lifestyle based off that number. We hide that number from the world no matter what it is. “It is bad manners to ask someone their weight.” And maybe for now it is. But the world could use a shift.
I fell for it just as I’m sure most of you have, so let’s learn from my mistakes.
The Take Away:
When you catch yourself going down that slippery slope of relying on the number on your scale or the size of your dress to make you feel good about yourself I want you to stop and really think about what you are doing. Remember to be nice to yourself. Be gentle. You don’t bully others (you better not be…Santa is watching you punks!) so don’t bully yourself either. You are trying, and that is all that counts.
For the record, I’m still proud of this picture. I could pick it apart and say wide hips, skinny-fat arms, oddly shaped muscles, or whatever other distorted self images I used to see, but instead I’ll just thank my body for staying strong through the hell I did to it. And I’ll make it a promise to treat it with love (& doughnuts & deadlifts) for the rest of forever.