Sometimes, I’ll write a blog post and then look back at it the next day and find myself saying something like this: “Wow. That was way more depressing/self-critical/what have you than I intended.” And then I’ll write some sort of post recanting some of the previous day’s statements.
This is not one of those posts.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not living in constant dread of what will happen when I lose weight, and I don’t have any significant concerns about becoming anorexic or obsessed. But I do worry. It’s hard not to, I suppose, when I’ve put so much effort into achieving what I’ve done so far. I have fears, but I’m not afraid.
Does that make sense? I hope it does, because it made sense in my head.
The fears, I suppose, have driven some of what I’ve tried to do with my health. I know I’ve talked about how a fear of being diabetic and going blind is what pushed me to start exercising and counting calories in the first place, but I’m not talking about that kind of fear. What I mean now is this: those fears are why I put my emphasis where I have. They’re why I focus on positive things, on adding exercise to my daily routine and on my health and physical fitness. I’m aware of my weight, don’t get me wrong. And I obsess a little on it, starting around Friday (because I weigh in on Sunday). But my daily focus isn’t on my weight. It’s on my health, and my energy, and my ability to do things.
Trying to lose weight is terrifying. Trying to swim more is fun. Being able to go for long walks on nature trails is exhilarating. Being able to keep up with my son when he wants to swordfight and wrestle for two hours is amazing. Spinning my staff and doing tricks is fun. And all of those things are reminders of why I’m losing weight. And I fully believe that, as long as I keep those facts in mind, my fears won’t be anything to be afraid of.