Biggest Loser

This is the month that feels like that first five minutes after company leaves, when your house is quiet again and although you’re relieved that your host responsibilities are over, you’re also sad to be alone with yourself yet again. We who follow the traditional fall/winter holiday route all seem to fall into the same trap every year—burn ourselves out and then expect to be an even better version of the punk ass we already are as soon as January 1st arrives.

Those New Year’s resolutions seem a little ridiculous on the heels of wrapping approximately 107 things all with special ribbons prior to December 25th. Yet, I found myself sucked into the resolution fever and, for some reason, I thought it was a good idea to join a “Biggest Loser” competition at school. I am solidly in my perimenopausal years right now and nothing, and I mean nothing, functions like it used to. I used to have a metabolism and a waistline. Now? My metabolism says “YUMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYY” to all foods, keeps all of that, and then asks for more. It sucks and I feel fat. My clothes agree. Do I want you to tell me I look great? Nope. Why? Because I feel fat and that’s that.

I stepped on the scale on Friday to find that my weight had not at all changed from the first weigh in a week before. It was bold of me to choose to do this because the very act of stepping on a scale is a trigger for me. I tend to obsess over numbers like weight and used to think about my weight all the time as if it were some numerical indicator of my human worth. I guess, in a way, this “competition” is an exposure therapy for me. I am trying to expose myself to the scale and use it as an indicator of how healthy I am but not an indicator of my worth. That’s a fine line I am treading and it is not easy. I have slipped into a lot of negative self talk and I am actively working against it. At times, I have thought about dropping out to avoid this downward spiral of thoughts. But, my desire to be physically healthy is significant so I am going to keep on keeping on.

As my eggs shrivel up and die, they are holding on to whatever they’ve got and fat is one of those things. After this week of getting a monstrous period for the first time in a couple months (and I do mean monstrous), I am frankly done with this womanly chore of shedding my uterine lining. As I eagerly anticipate the winter of my womanhood, I will keep working to be “healthy” despite my weight not wanting to reflect my efforts. I guess my doctor is right—I can’t blame weight gain on perimenopause if I don’t exercise. I will try, I guess, to do just that and be a better me. Here goes something. Check back with me in two weeks…