Today my friend Jennifer in What We Talk About When We Talk About Weight bravely told her story regarding her battle with weight issues and the discussions she has with herself about her weight over the years. As I started to post my comment regarding her beautiful writing, I ended up creating something that I didn’t know was inside of me. The comment itself turned into something very long and emotional, and this process is what I originally loved about blogging. You see someone write something beautiful and raw, and you can’t help but write a heartfelt response of your own. It’s blogging beauty reaching out to each other in this way. Sometimes I think our obsession with minimalist writing such as seen on Facebook or Twitter really has damaged this connection. Whether or not it is forever has yet to be seen.
My comment to Jennifer’s post:
Thanks so much for bravely posting this post. It’s a battle I’m sure most have experienced at one time or another. I personally didn’t start my struggle with weight until after my 2nd pregnancy. And my attempts to lose were always only partially attempted until a few years ago when I started running. In fact I started running because I noticed that every thin person I knew ran. Surprising to me was the fact that running did in fact not change my size or weight one ounce.
Running, however, has done a lot for my spiritual and mental health, but my body keeps rejecting a lot of my runs every time I try to amp up or do more that I’m doing. The weight blended with the strain of running was just too much for it. So 2 years ago I started watching what I ate very carefully to give my joints, etc. what they needed so that I could keep running. I finally started using the tools my health nut mother taught me as I was growing up. And I studied, and studied, and studied to learn more about fueling my body.
Now I could probably tell most people more about nutrition that most nutritionists, and yet the weight still clings to my body. I keep playing with the numbers…eating more, eating less, eating different things, trying different plans, tracking my calories, studying my metabolic rate, talking to doctors, and on and on and on.
Then this morning, as you know, I discovered a health issue I’ve been having may be the cause to all of my worries. I worry that I’ve waited to long to take care of my body, and that I will forever be the size I am now forcing me to quit running.
At the same time I’m ashamed not to be grateful for the body that I do have. There are always others to compare yourself that are worse off than you are, and that is a burdon. And there are always others to compare yourself to that are better off than you are, and that is also a burdon. Letting go of the burdon I think is the biggest challenge. And some day I hope to be able to conquer that part of me.
But I think for a while I’m just going to have to mourn time wasted and mistakes made. I just have make 100% sure that there aren’t options I’m unaware of out there to help me. And I have to do all of this without making myself insane. Perhaps it’s time for another run.
I find the rolling of thunder to be so calming and beautiful as I sit in my giant white cozy chair that is reserved for only me. The dog is not allowed up with me in this chair and neither are the kids as I hope to keep the whiteness pristine, a shining beginning of an all white home I hope to have some day. The thunder rolls, and I can almost feel the breeze on my face as if instead of hearing the thunder I can feel it blowing by, consistently whipping the strands of my hair that refuse to stay in my neat pony tail. My dog stands at the window trying to talk to the thunder with his low guttural growls. “This is my home, and you are not welcome,” he lets it know. And the thunder rolls its eyes and answers by opening up the clouds.
Rain in Oklahoma never seems to start slowly, one drop at a time slowly picking up speed as it is sometimes shown in movies giving the actors time to take cover. Instead the rain reminds me of how I used to feel as a teen when I would play the piano. I would drill through a couple of loud demanding scales warming up my fingers for what I knew what was coming next, a barrage of crazy notes flying from my fingers as I opened up my emotional fire hose drowning out the angst of my teen filled day. That is what rain in Oklahoma is like. Thunder comes slowly rolling in commanding your attention, and then suddenly with every ounce of force that a rain cloud can muster you are enveloped with its wetness as if you have chosen to jump up into the rain cloud itself.
Thunder is passionate and forceful. It is loving and bossy. It is strength at its finest and intimidating to the weak among us. It is outside, and I am inside sinking deeper into my cozy white chair, listening to the thunder and knowing what is about to come.