This blog has hosted many a post on the old Battle of the Bulge front. I've been writing about it since I quit smoking in 2006 when the chub slowly but surely began to find its way onto my reluctant frame.
As I weighed myself last Saturday morning (remember, I only step on that thing once a week for checks and balances), and the number read "157," I thought to myself, "Maybe what I've got right now is as good as it gets."
There's a great Mumford & Sons song (oh heck, they're all great for that matter) called "Awake Your Soul" and a line jumped out at me that morning, as I sat working on my computer:
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
Common sense hit me right between the eyes, as much as I tried to dodge the shot: this body of mine, with it's dimples and muffin-topped midsection, is Ground Zero for my entire life experience. All the good. All the bad. All the ordinary. All the magical.
How does having a flat stomach really add or detract from an entire lifetime of experience?
Like many of you, I stuggle with figuring out how to be enough. Sometimes it seems the physical housing takes such a precedent and seems to erase some of the joy to be found in the simple act of living.
I fight against this nearly every day.
Some days, I'm inspired by a new book I'm reading on metabolism, or a health and nutrition podcast that really speaks to me. Some days, I return from a solid run, covered in sweat and catching my breath, and the size of my ass is the absolute least of my concerns.
Some days, I look in the mirror and there's a really cute 40-something lady looking back at me, and I think, "Oh, there you are."
There you are, with your glasses, and your grey hairs, and your wrinkles and the same outfit you had on yesterday. I know you. I'm so lucky to BE you.
I realize that there are also a lot of women out there for whom this isn't an issue. Somewhere along the line of their lives, they gained a sense of confidence and self-worth that had little if nothing to do with how they looked on the outside. If that is you, I both envy and admire you.
Me? I'm a work in progress, with the emphasis decidedly on progress.