Damn it all
Last year I was probably in the best shape I'd been in for a long, long time. I'd been biking for nine months straight to and from school. I'd almost gotten back into running. I was eating well, and eating normal human quantities. I was 180lbs. Which was a big number for me. I hadn't been that low since...well, probably since about 7th or 8th grade.
And now one year later. Over at my grandmother's (who, in a year, remains the only person I know with a weight scale), I found out that I was at 210lbs. Which is incredibly depressing, because that was my other big number: the number I'd started from back in ye olde 2003. Yeah.
But here's the thing. I've been biking 30+ miles a week (usually uphill, I'll have you note). I've been playing ultimate frisbee twice a week for at least a month now. I've been eating better, trying to eat healthier, and in more reasonable intervals. The thing is, I've felt healthier than I had in months.
I understand that weight is not a good indicator of overall health. I understand that muscle far outweighs fat. I understand that it is "more complicated" than any indicator I can attribute, save for maybe the body-fat ratio they always cite for athletes. I understand there are genetic factors, hormonal factors, metabolic factors, psychological factors, etc.
What I don't understand is that after at least ten, no, fifteen years of being self-conscious about my weight and physical appearance, I still have no feeling that I have accomplished any of my goals towards weight loss or fitness. A year ago, I felt that I had returned to a "more normal" weight, such that then I could really start into fitness like everybody else, and be on the road to maybe looking "normal." But I had not "accomplished" anything, as I hadn't done anything other than get back to where I had started. I had simply done as I was supposed to be doing. What people expected me to be doing.
So yes, I'm frustrated. I know that this complaint is nothing new to me or my writings. I'll just leave it at that and deal with it later.
What worries me is the years to come. When I was younger, I had thought that something drastic would happen; either I would suddenly get incredibly ill, or I would be starved on a desert island, or something equally improbable, wasting me away and leaving nothing but skin and bone. That was the easiest solution I could wait for. Once I abandoned that, I figured I could dedicate myself to a sport that would run it all off me. I played hockey, and was able to maintain a healthy spherical shape. I joined football. I got thinner. And I hated every minute of it, so much so that I think I'd returned to my previous weight within a few months. Then I tried running. Which made me feel better (but got me in no better overall shape) until my Achilles tendons started giving me trouble. My only success story is when I had to bike for an hour a day for nine months. And we see how long that lasted me.
The time I spent getting to feel "more normal" is not inconsiderable. And now I feel that time has been wasted. I have to ask, how many more times can this happen? How much time do I have to waste like this? Is it at all worth it?
At some point I convinced myself it was. Back when I figured I had a lot of time to figure it all out. I know that in order to get on with my life I have to feel that normal again. I'm not prepared to admit that that may not happen.