Alrighty. Here’s my progress photos from the first of the year. Not a huge amount of change, but not really expecting much in just four weeks, and only lifting three of the last four weeks. And especially since I had birthday cake for breakfast four of the last seven days.
When I was actively blogging last time, I was more than a bit obsessive. I’m an over-tracker. I’d log my weight and every bite I ate, track my exercise on Runkeeper, MyFitnessPal, Fitocracy and a spreadsheet on my computer, plus a few running challenges on MFP, as well as taking measurements, progress photos and calculating my body fat percentage. My results were great. I looked fantastic. I felt great. Mostly. But in retrospect… it was fucking nuts.
Now, I haven’t logged my food since sometime in July. I get on the scale once in a while, but I don’t record my weight. I will take measurements at some point in the future, but that will be before sewing so I make the right size dress or costume. I still use Runkeeper… at least until my phone crashes and I lose my date (I broke my good phone and I’m using a dinosaur until I’m eligible for an upgrade). I just started using Fitocracy again to keep track of my lifts. I pop into MFP once in a while, but I rarely post. I will take progress photo, because I find them the most motivating.
Overall, I’m ok with how I look. I wouldn’t mind being a little leaner and more defined, but I’m not going to drive myself bonkers trying to achieve it. If it happens while I’m doing activities I enjoy and eating well (which is mostly nutrient dense foods in a good balance, with some yummy treats), wonderful. If it doesn’t, I’m still doing activities I enjoy and eating well.
There is no after. That’s what I’ve learned. The only “after” will be once I’m dead. Until then, it’s all just during.
This photo shows the last five years of my life at different weights and sizes. There’s times I’ve had more motivation. Times I had less. Times I felt fantastic. Times I hurt. Times I weighed less. Times I weighed more. Times I didn’t give a flying fuck. Times I cared too much.
In other words: Life happened.
Honestly, I loved how I looked and felt in November 2012, and I’m working towards looking and feeling that way again. But sometimes, it’s just not a priority. And that’s okay. If I were a personal trainer or a fitness model, then it would be a higher priority. But I’m not. And I’m perfectly content where I am. My life does not improve in any major way if my body fat percentage is a little lower, if I can run a little faster, if I can lift a little heavier, if I wear a smaller clothing style. It really just doesn’t matter if I’m fairly fit or super fit.
Some in the fitness industry would like to call someone like me a failure, because I’m not constantly improving or even trying to. Say I’m just making excuses or I’m not focused or determined enough. Screw ’em. I don’t say they’re failures if they can’t, won’t or don’t do other things I do. I’ve never said, “I re-tiled my kitchen floor, repaired my broken dryer, dishwasher and stove, and installed drywall by myself… what’s YOUR excuse?” How ridiculous would that be?! I love to read, I’ve tamed feral cats and literally taught an old dog new tricks, I’m a pretty damn good artist and an obsessive bargain hunter… if someone else doesn’t do those things, does that make them failures, unfocused or not determined? No. That means they have other interests. And so do I. And so do you.
I had my first 5k race in many years yesterday. It was a charity race to benefit the Blue Chip Farm Animal Refuge, and there were doggies everywhere! My Beavis did not attend. In addition to not being athletic, he’s also a little bastard who can’t be trusted.
First things first, I had to start the race with my Go Go Juice. It’s a tradition.
I’d planned to run in shorts and a moisture wicking tee. I’m no sissy. I don’t mind chilly air. I’m really, really glad I wore a sweatshirt to the event, because from the time I got up to the time I got there, the wind had decided to go from gentle breeze to angry howl. I wished I’d worn gloves, too!
I also wished I’d worn pants. Not only was I cold, but my little short shorts got even shorter as I ran and … well … maybe I’m further away from my goal weight than I thought. But you know what else? So what? I have big legs. Big deal.
But, despite the wind and the cold, and the last stretch being a challenge because we were running INTO The one mile dog walk and people not having enough sense to stay on one side of the path, or keep their dogs on a shorter leash – #dogspreading! – and not running as fast as I’d have liked, I still won the 40+ age group, with my brother coming in second.
I’m not exactly sure what my final time was. It was a small race, and they didn’t have the giant clock at the end, and I didn’t stop Runkeeper right away. It was under 31 minutes, that’s all I know. I’ve done faster in the past. I’ll probably do faster in the future. But this was still good enough.