Stepping up, Scaling down

 

Stairs. And hills. Stairs and more hills. That, my friends, has been my secret to my weight loss. No magic formula, no obscure diet. Just a lifestyle change, where I have prioritized an active lifestyle over car use.

I have written this blog article a million times in my head, for the last year and a half. I told myself I would post it once I got to my ideal weight loss. Just another few pounds, I kept telling myself. Come on, I’d egg myself. You can do it. And then, I’d go back on the scale and though it would read well, it was still not optimal.

But what exactly is my blog article about? A self-congratulatory high-five, or a deep dive into the psyche of my oppressive load?

January 2023. I had a wedding to attend, and I had sworn myself that I would fit into my paternal grandmother’s little black sparkling dress that she had worn on her 25^th wedding anniversary. And then I got on the scale. 177 lbs! I had never, ever, ever been that weight before! And the dress, that I so desired to wear, well, it could barely fit half my body, let alone being able to zip it up.  That was my lowest point, or rather, a mass of the utmost gravity.

It was not a conscious decision. I did not say to myself that I would go on a diet, exercise, or lose weight. It was a slow shift.  I gave up my parking spot at work. I started walking. To put into context, I live on a hill, and I work on a hill. To get there on foot, and to come home, it’s a cardio feat that the feet, and heart, must muster. My office was on the 6^th floor. No more elevators or escalators, the stairs became my friends.

And then, what really changed my life profoundly, I bought myself an electric assisted bicycle. So, you might think that battery power got me places, but the ions would only flow if I pedaled; and pedal hard I did. I’d go everywhere with my bike. Summer, spring, fall, and yes, even winter, except if there is snow or ice on the ground, or below 10 degrees Celsius (I’m not that insane!).

Diet? Pshaw. I love food wayyy (weigh) too much to do so. My weakness is food. Especially butter. Or chocolate. I can polish off 5 pounds of chocolate in one sitting if given the chance. I am a binge eater. That is what had to stop. Eat, yes, eat well, eat sweets, but as they say, in moderation. So I cut back on portions a little, and mostly, I have cut back on the depletion of the cookie bags in one sitting.

I have not always been weighty, but I’ve always been weighed down by weight issues.

When I was growing up, it was the opposite scenario; I was so tiny, so delicate, that it gave way to my maternal grandfather saying that he could make me float away like a feather if he huffed on me, to being called toothpick in elementary school, being picked on and bullied. Until one day, in grade 5, I fought back and pushed the biggest bully, and in grade 7, going to McDonalds almost daily and ordering 3 Bigmacs so as to make myself bigger (no, in no way do I endorse this weight gain mechanism).

Adolescence hit; I grew into my body. It was fine for a while, until I continued to grow into my body a little too much, or so I thought. I was filling into my curves.  I was drawing attention on a rather voluptuous front. I tried to hide it sometimes, by wearing A-line and baggy clothes. Ah, but this gives an image of plumpness even more defined (dear asshole who looked at me when I was reading and people watching in a café and proceeded to tell me it wasn’t recommended to smoke while pregnant, your comment was grossly inappropriate and insulting!).

Those times when I lived in Jamaica, and I would be catcalled in the streets, “Whaaaa… Gyal, yuh Faaattt!” and I took it as an insult when for them, it couldn’t have been a nicer compliment!

That time when I dropped 55 lbs in two months unintentionally, going from 155 lbs to 95 lbs on an infamous rum diet (no, in no way do I endorse this diet), due to an extremely explosive and toxic marriage when my ex cheated on me and I came back to Montreal, when everyone thought I had Aids and was dying, yet I still saw myself as huge.

That time I gave birth.

Those times that I had miscarriages.

Those times that I expanded exponentially when I stopped smoking.

That time when I had liposuction to get rid of my belly fat, after yet another highly toxic dysfunctional breakup, thinking that the way to fix my problems was by bettering my body (no, in no way do I endorse this desecration of the body), which left me with a lump on my stomach and atrophied ab muscles (note to all those who are thinking that liposuction is an easy fix, it is actually the opposite. You cannot exercise for 3 months so you debilitate your muscles, and the fat does come back in ways and places that are almost impossible to master).

Those times, too numerous to count, where I would be rendering myself in a comatose state through overconsumption, in a desperate attempt to numb the pain of shit going bad.

And then. Menopause. Need I say more?

But. Through it all. I have, in the last 3 years, attained some sense of control. Of my weight. Of my life. Of my state of happiness.

In small, incremental steps. Stairs. Hills. Stairs some more. And my bike. And walking my dog 3 times a day.

Slowly, I saw my weight roll back, my rolls slimmer down. From 177 lbs, I came down to 170 lbs.  Then down to 165 lbs 4 months later. Then I plateaued to 160 lbs for a few months.

And then the pounds started to melt away! I dropped another 5 pounds, and then another, and then another! After a few months, I reached 145 lbs! And then I plateaued again.

My clothes were drooping on me; I could no longer wear the same pants without risking finding them at my knees. I needed a bra fitting, as my boobs no longer fit into the cups of my bras. But oh my, how good it finally felt, to be free of those pounds that were weighing me down! Without mentioning the fact that I felt so very healthy!

I challenged myself further. I dared myself to do a half marathon (21.1 kms) for my 60^th birthday. Even though I had 3 months prior to that, torn my ligaments in my right ankle. Even though I have never run in my life. I gave myself the objective of finishing it. Walking, mostly. And in less than 4.5 hours.

Guess what! I succeeded my half-marathon, in 3 hours, 8 minutes and 7 seconds!

And I lost a couple more pounds in the process.

You know what else I have lost in the last few years? Having to define myself through other people’s eyes. Seeing myself as a whole, specifically a whole lot of greatness. Taking pride in who I am, what I stand for, what I do and how I do it. Stepping up to being my best authentic self.

I do admit, I now have a dependence on the scale, on weighing myself daily, for the last 3 years. I see my progression, and my occasional setbacks. It guides me, but it also pervades my days. I have put back on the couple of pounds that I lost during the training for the half marathon. I have again plateaued.

I aim to drop to 140 lbs, and if I can accomplish it, I hope to be at my optimal weight of 135 lbs, maybe next year. It will not be a fast loss, as it can be an equally fast gain again. But soon, at some point, I will put on that little black sparkling dress of my paternal grandmother and look damned hot in it!

In the meantime, till then, I am happy in my happy 3 sizes smaller clothes, but mostly, I am happy that it’s not the clothes that define me.

And I thought I couldn’t post this blog article.