Pacing For Pretzels

…of your body, that is.  Thanks to the blog world, and in particular, Rachel at Shedding & Getting It and Gina at  The Fitnessista, I became aware that today, October 21, 2009 is National Love Your Body Day.

Body Bashing

I remember the first time I became conscious of my body, and in particular, my weight: I was twelve years old and had to weigh myself in gym class for our yearly physical fitness assessment. I still have the journal laying around somewhere that documented my thoughts that very night. It read like this, “You would not believe what I weighed in gym class today. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN POUNDS!  I need to lose weight, like, NOW.”

What I failed to realize at that time (and the time of the picture above) was that I was 5′6″, the same height I am today. That same year was a rough one in general and the girls in eighth grade made it their mission to make my life a living hell. They called me a slut, spread nasty rumors, got their boyfriends to bark at me, even got my seventh grade friends to turn against me.  Evidently, this does a number on a vulnerable tween.

Over the next three years, I continued to eat ungodly amounts of Oreos (think a sleeve in one sitting) and the like. I would take six to eight chocolate chip cookies, put them in a large cup, pour milk over them and call it a “Cookie Milkshake”. Ingenious, no? Well I ended up gaining close to 25lbs on my small frame by my sophomore year of high school (1998-1999). For years, my mother had promised me that my eating would catch up with me , and boy, it had. I was seasonally active (playing lacrosse, horseback riding, and one season of soccer) but by no means did I have an active lifestyle. I did start and quit winter track twice though, after the first week or two.

I was in denial about the weight gain until my on and off boyfriend of three years (we met in eighth grade) designated me as one of the “big girls” in our class. I  legitimately do not think he meant to hurt me, he saw it as a reference to my height and curves. However, I can remember the phone conversation like it was yesterday and those two words hung over my head for the entire summer, and then some. I basically stopped eating and at the very least counted every single calorie I consumed. Tootsie roll pop? Fantastic 60 calorie meal.

Of course, compliments flooded in and I began to measure my self worth by the number on the scale. I became obsessed with weighing myself every morning, stark naked (God fordid I had socks on or something) to measure my weight gain or loss and eat accordingly. By the time summer came to an end and I began my junior year, I was between 125-130lbs. I wasn’t making smarter food choices, I was just eating less. Every morning for about three years, I would eat one third of a cinnamon chip muffin. I felt very in control of my food and my intake, but I can remember one morning when my grandmother ate my muffin. I made a huge fuss over it - this was going to throw off my whole day. Looking back now, I feel awful for doing this. I mean come on, getting upset with your diabetic grandmother for eating  your muffin because her sugar was low?  I may have felt in control but my actions spoke volumes.  Heck, I even packed a scale in my suitcase on vacations.  I did have a gym membership in high school but I could count on one hand how many times I went… maybe even one finger.

Following this, I weighed myself almost daily for ten years straight.  In 2004, I moved out of my parents’ house and into a place (okay, it was really a trailer but that is a whole different topic) with my best friend at the University of Connecticut.  I was single for the first time since I was thirteen (I stayed with that boyfriend for seven years) and I was finally experiencing college.  This included seeing thin, beautiful girls all over campus. I began to compare myself to them, started working out at our college gym,  playing lacrosse on the club team, all while eating less, and less and less. After a year at college I had dropped close to 10lbs. At this time I met my future husband. I can remember him telling me that both his ex-girlfriends (who were 5′11 and 6′0) weighed 120lbs. I knew this wasn’t the case, I had seen them and they did not appear to be scarily thin. But it didn’t matter. If he thought they weighed 120lbs, what did he expect me to weigh? At that time, I think I probably weighed 120lbs. During college I also developed a habit that I still struggle with: eating very little for days and then losing control (a piece of cake) and then feeling like I blew it so I would eat three more pieces of cake, then four cookies, then five huge scoops of ice cream… You get the point. I would eat until it hurt, then I would go to sleep because I could forget what I had just eaten. That is, until I woke up again.

My weight was like a rollercoaster and I would avoid the scale for a couple of days after I ate too much. From 2005 to 2007 my weight fluctuated ten to fifteen pounds, sometimes every few months. The rapid weight gains and losses were taking a toll on my body and my mind. Often times, when I would get down, I would eat, but there were other times the eating wasn’t triggered by emotions, at least not consciously. Of course, most of the pictures I find are during times when I felt skinny (which I equated with being pretty):

Less Rollercoaster Eating… Less Eating in General

I slowly have been working my way out of this cycle (and mindset that one piece of chocolate ruined my whole day) by adopting a lifestyle of fitness and fueling my body with nutritious wholesome foods. I still look at food with a twisted view (bread and pasta = bad, for example) and it is a daily struggle. Before my wedding, I reached an all time low weight of 113. I was still restricting my eating and had really upped the ante on my workouts. Also, I had just moved to North Carolina and was adapting to my move (i.e. lots of stress). In the past, when I feel out of control of my life, I know my weight is one thing I can control. By the time of our wedding (August 2008) I had gained a few lbs only to the advice of my seamstress, who told me my dress would fit better if I added a couple lbs to my frame.

Right around my all time low:

Letting Go of the Number on the Scale

After the wedding, I finally had some time on my hands and started to run for my health, not for the number on the scale. I ran my first 5k with my Dad on Thanksgiving (2008) and then a few more races this past summer.  I can now say for the first time in my life I work out because I love how it makes me feel. I am down to weighing myself about once every week or two. Instead, I use my jeans and how I feel as a measurement. I still struggle with how much to eat, but I take it day by day. I have learned to not only accept my body but to love it. Heck, it ran 8 miles yesterday with minimal stretching, took a strength training class today, and I am not even sore.

Tags: college, distortion, eating, growing up, high school, running, self image, weight