Apparently a woman is only truly comfortable with her body in her 30s. So this must mean I’m in the love-hate stage of my relationship with the way I look, the way my body is in the early part of my late 20s (See how I’m trying to convince myself that I’m not that old?). This is fairly accurate. I suppose you don’t really care as much about what you eat when you’re a teenager because you’re active and you’ll burn all of it off anyway.That was partly my story as well.
When I got home from school, I would take off on the bike. I hated being indoors. On days when I was happy, I would go annoy Broseph Tinkerbell (my li’l brother) till he’d agree to sit on the back of the bike, the part where we were meant to put our bags), and we’d set off. I’d just cruise around for a while because he’d much rather be at home with his nose in some interesting philosophical book, maybe underlining a quote from Nietzsche he really loved (He was only 8!). When he least expected it I’d go down a steep winding path yelling “PREPARE FOR THE BUMPY RIDE!”. He hated it!
When I was older, I’d sneak off from Math class to play basketball. We were nerds even in this rebellious behaviour. We’d finish all the “problems” at the end of the chapter the teacher was going on about, then finish all the sums for the next 3 chapters as well and et voila! Freedom to shoot some hoops in a country where sports wasn’t supposed to be a thing ladies indulged in.
In University, I found out I had a lung problem. My lung was working at only 50% the capacity – so the doctor said I was not allowed to do anything strenuous, including sports or camping or go out in the sun or knock heads with the world because I was, and I’m not even joking, “allergic to nature”.
Something about that verdict really got me depressed and I stopped doing anything active. I devoured books, I wrote stories, I stayed away from doing the things that made me alive. Instead I would eat. I love food. It brings you comfort and we all know where this story goes. It wasn’t until I was in Tanzania when I was chasing around children that I realised that I had completely let it go.
When I made my way back home, I decided to do something about it. It’s been a year. I’ve lost 40 pounds and I feel so much more vibrant. But I’m at the point of my weight loss where you plateau no matter how much you exercise and watch what you eat. I think it needs a kick but I’m not sure where to begin. So when I weigh myself every week, it’s hard not to despair.
I love watching people’s jaw drop when they see me, exclaiming about how good I look. The joy is wearing off slowly though because when you workout to feel fit, the “oh you look gorgeous” bit gets a bit annoying. It’s a concept that is hard to explain – that you can look good and not feel healthy. Know what I mean?
What do you do when your health regime isn’t going as well as you’d like?