Thursday, February 07, 2013

190.6; Lying

When I was a teen I compared my body to those around me, friends, family members and others.  I didn't like what I saw in myself and was really very critical, as most teens are.  I was on the tall side, on the large boned side and often one of the bigger girls.  I'd guess I was likely lower weight than I am now, but similar body shape.

In early college I lost a bunch of weight my second year.  I could share clothes with my sister, who was still in high school.  However, I was still bigger than most of my friends.  I'd guess I was about 150-ish and 5'7", but in a large.  The farther along I got in college, the heavier I got.

That's when I really started lying to myself.  I've talked about this before, this body image issue.  I gained weight so slowly that I didn't notice it.  And because no one said anything to me about it, I convinced lied to myself that it wasn't so bad.  In fact I spent the rest of the my 20s and the early part of my 30s, about 10 years, lying to myself.

Oh yes, there were times that I magically lost weight and looked better.  I say magically because I was doing nothing to lose weight, it was life situations or medical issues.  And when I'd lose weight people would comment on how good I looked.  But it never clicked with me.  Because I'd gain the weight back and continue to lie to myself that I didn't look that bad.

Then when I wanted to lose weight, I'd change how I ate in front of people, but still chow down when I was alone at home.  I'd lie to myself that I was changing and lament about my body not following suit.  I'd track all my foods to get a good calorie count, but not add in the chocolate/candy/crap and I'd cheat the portions down form what I really ate.  I'd lie to myself. 

I'd jump on that treadmill when I got home and sweat like a pig for 20 minutes while Pete was still on his way home.  Then I'd jack thing up to 12 and step on the sides while it shirred by, racking up the miles on the counter.  He'd get home and I'd show him how well I did.  While I lied to myself about how good I did on working out.  I'd lift weights at the gym and grunt and sweat, but lie about how heavy the weights were or how many reps I actually did.

My point to all this?  The lying?  It got me NO WHERE.  None.  I knew I was lying.  Pete knew I was lying.  My family knew I was lying.  My co-workers and friends knew I was lying.  But I lied to myself about the fact that I was lying.  And it got me no where, other than to suddenly wake up after 10 years of being fat and unhappy and depressed. 

So when I hear Pete talk about clients that are having issues or when I hear friends or bloggers talk about not losing or seeing results, I can't help but wonder if they're lying to themselves too.  I want to yell to them that lying doesn't work, it does no good to them.  But I don't.  When I reach a plateau and I find myself complaining about a lack of progress I have to stop myself.  I have to tell myself to quit lying. 

Have you started telling the truth?

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