National Coming Out Day
I am on day 32 of a Primal Blueprint challenge and it is time to admit something to myself. I'm fat. I'm 50 pounds over my triathlon-running weight. I made a goal of losing 14 pounds in these six weeks and I doubt I've lost any. Oh, I've been meeting some of the OTHER goals, and still working the challenge, but do you know why I don't know my weight? Because I haven't been to the gym in nearly two weeks. I hurt my knee two weeks ago and had to let it heal, but it's healed now and I still haven't been to the gym. (I don't have a scale at home, I just use the good one at the gym. If I start to wondering what my weight is then I figure I'd better get my ass over to the gym anyway.)
There's a fat loss challenge class starting at the YMCA on Tuesday. I've known about it for a while. I hate those things. Really really hate them. I did one ten years ago, the summer of of 2002, and bitched about it the entire time. (My bitching is handily archived for your reading pleasure in alt.support.diet threads.) The thing is, I went on from that class to finally do it, to lose 80 pounds. I did it partly out of disgust for how awful that instructor was, just to show her: do THIS, not that. I know how to lose fat. krustukles at Stumptuous can tell me anything I've forgotten.
But here's the thing. I'm not doing it. For whatever reason, I'm not losing this fat. I don't want it, I have time and motivation, I'm just... not. Six weeks ago I made myself a threat, and now I have to make good on it: starting Tuesday I have to go join that frigging fat loss group at the YMCA, and pay $99 extra for the pleasure. Dammit.
But the fact is, I'm a fat person now. This is what "coming out" looks like in this iteration: I'm laying it out there; this is as I am and I need to deal with it. I have zero interest in going the fat acceptance route. For three years I've been dicking around with this, losing three pounds here or there. I call bullshit. It's time I dropped forty pounds. Four zero. I want to be a financial advisor, tell people how to get their acts together? Physician, heal thyself.
There's a fat loss challenge class starting at the YMCA on Tuesday. I've known about it for a while. I hate those things. Really really hate them. I did one ten years ago, the summer of of 2002, and bitched about it the entire time. (My bitching is handily archived for your reading pleasure in alt.support.diet threads.) The thing is, I went on from that class to finally do it, to lose 80 pounds. I did it partly out of disgust for how awful that instructor was, just to show her: do THIS, not that. I know how to lose fat. krustukles at Stumptuous can tell me anything I've forgotten.
But here's the thing. I'm not doing it. For whatever reason, I'm not losing this fat. I don't want it, I have time and motivation, I'm just... not. Six weeks ago I made myself a threat, and now I have to make good on it: starting Tuesday I have to go join that frigging fat loss group at the YMCA, and pay $99 extra for the pleasure. Dammit.
But the fact is, I'm a fat person now. This is what "coming out" looks like in this iteration: I'm laying it out there; this is as I am and I need to deal with it. I have zero interest in going the fat acceptance route. For three years I've been dicking around with this, losing three pounds here or there. I call bullshit. It's time I dropped forty pounds. Four zero. I want to be a financial advisor, tell people how to get their acts together? Physician, heal thyself.