Lifting and losing

September is coming to an end as I write this column. Early in the month, our family celebrated (via long distance calls, text and social media) the wedding anniversary of our youngest daughter and her wife. The very same day, LOML and I celebrated one of our long-standing favourite days, the not going to work day also known as the day after Labour Day. While many of our young friends were heading back to the classroom after an unsummerlike break, LOML and I sat on the beach at Long Point, enjoying the quiet.

And at the end of September, we celebrated our eldest daughter’s birthday. September blew in rainy and cool and sauntered out in a blaze of colour, warmth and sunshine.

Ah, October! October has become the month I celebrate just for me. This October marks the fourth year of my personal commitment to get fit and healthy. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d last much longer than three months, back in 2010 when I signed on at The County Club. Why would I give myself credit for lasting more than three months?

In the past, I’d joined CounterWeight and lost a small person while nibbling on melba toast, boiled eggs and salads without dressing, and drinking black tea. Then I joined Weight Watchers, not once, not twice but three times. The weight came and went. I wasn’t committed to the process of the semi-public weigh-ins and I was bored to tears by the lecturers, one of whom could have practiced what she was preaching. At WW, I’d stand in the line, practically in my skivvies, having ditched my watch, earrings and wedding band, only to be told I’d gained a half pound or, occasionally, lost a half pound.

Over the years, I have learned all about weighing my food. I have listened to lecturers blather on about portion control, the Canada Food Guide, fibre, rice cakes and eating slowly. Once, in my quest for thin, I tried a high fat diet because a corpulent friend’s logic was to fight fire with fire. Seemed like a plan—fighting fat with fat. Additionally, I languished on low fat diets, dragged my arse around on low carb diets, ate like a Cro-Magnon on a paleo diet and even went as far as the dreaded cabbage soup diet. My sons had a better name for that one. With every diet, every plan, every weigh-in, I knew something was missing. It was easy enough to dump the plump, but the moment I was in the same room as a chocolate bar or a bag of chips, every ounce I had lost made its way back to my body. I binged. I fasted. I juiced. I smoothied. I am an encyclopedia of diet effluvia.

Four years ago, I decided to give myself one last try. I took a long look in the mirror and asked if that’s what I wanted to look like for the next 30 years. Tired. Fat. Grumpy. I was afraid of food. Years of dieting had netted me a long list of untouchable foods. I was overwhelmed with guilt whenever I ate anything from that list. If I strayed, I’d slam on the brakes and starve myself. And, then? Well, and then I stopped eating pretend food.

I shunned everything low-fat, diet, lite, sugar-free, artificially flavoured, artificially sweetened, and started eating real food. I stopped obsessing about my weight. I made peace with the fact I was never again going to weigh what I did when I was in high school. I’m not 17, anymore. I don’t play field hockey five times a week, I’m not on the track team and I’m not on the collegiate swim team. I screwed up the courage to throw out the bathroom scale (twice) and reminded myself that weight is just a number on a dial. I work at being fit, have learned to enjoy real food and know how to fuel a workout. I sweat. I lift weights. I’m not tired, grumpy or fat.

Yep, October 2014 marks four years since I wrote a column about my quest to get fit. I like what I’ve accomplished. I love working out. I like what I see when I look in the mirror. I’m not afraid of food and I have been known to step on a scale and not have a breakdown or break it. Happy October to me!

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca