When Bertha Mason Loved a Man

pexels-photo-38990I am well and truly in the grips of Saturday’s fugue state. It is snowing, sincerely, which is Colorado for you as I was traipsing around regretting my coat this afternoon. In the out of doors, in fact. Yes. We took a brisk walk with the dog who is always eager to join us and it was possibly seventy degrees. We went over hill and dale, or at least 2 miles out and back in the little suburban development that newly adjoins my parents’ now old growth suburban development, and my legs are noting the difference between stomping around to exercise videos and treading pavement. It was good. It’s one of those things where you feel really excited about having done it despite while you’re doing it, contemplating every few moments about stopping and laying down in the street.

I also left my phone charger in the car and I’ll have to figure out how much I want to have that tomorrow – is it worth braving the snow? It always has to be something idiotic. Just to keep my feet on the ground. Just so I don’t get ahead of myself.

After a questionable session with the scale this morning, I’ve deduced that I have lost 3 pounds. PROBABLY. I can feel those 3 pounds, but the feeling that this isn’t enough is certainly present. If I were doing low-carb it might be double that. But all I can do is be gracious to it, and say three is better than zero if I can sustain it. If it doesn’t rely on me having a specific shake, or making this specific OCD ritual of a two-week behavior that is unrelated to my actual life, maybe I can see it as actual change.

If I don’t feel deprived or relegated to specific layers of the food pyramid, maybe I can handle telling myself no when I want everything and everything now. Stopping myself in eating situations has been a bit easier, I’ve noticed. Like I could eat a certain amount of ice cream that I’ve budgeted for and I can, put the container back in the freezer fairly close to that point. Not perfect, but I can lay down my weapons of choice and bli I want to see what a year of doing this means to my body. Is it going to just be 3 pounds. I don’t don’t know, but I doubt it. This was also a month with birthday cake, pizza, restaurant food, unexpected calorific meals and me just seeing if this was even possible.

I think it is.

I’ve been good on the food. My chicken thigh ably fed me this evening with this little garlic butter sauce over rice with green beans and carrots. I think I’ve kept within the margins as best I can. I am earnestly trying.

Now I am doing what I can to relax into the few hours before some hairy, scary work days and the hairy, scary place my brain can sometimes choose to be. It’s okay. We’re talking on Twitter about negative self-image and it’s sort of amazing to be walking what feels like the most isolated path and it turns out we’re all headed somewhere together. We just have to decide where that’s going to be.

I’d like to suggest, scary and hairy though it is, that we aim for up.

1 thought on “When Bertha Mason Loved a Man”

  1. They say one pound a week is a healthy and sustainable weight loss, so there’s that. I haven’t tracked but mine’s probably not so good

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