the summer of my discontent.

in late june, i stopped weighing myself. i just didn't feel like it anymore. i also stopped counting points, which i hadn't really been doing for a while, anyway, and i stopped reading weight loss and fitness blogs and books about food and eating. call it an experiment in normaldom, if you wish, even if it wasn't a conscious decision to attempt intuitive eating, even if it wasn't a conscious thing at all.

i guess i was just tired of it all.

and then i had a hellish four weeks at work, had major intestinal trouble that sent me to my gp first, and then to a gastroenterologist, then i had to get a tooth pulled and despite all that my body somehow managed to do something my body practically never does: i had a cycle and menstruated a few times (horray for the effort, boo for the pms and the bloating and the boobs), and there was a bunch of travel that had me away from r. for way too long and i found myself being totally fed up and bored at the gym even though i still went three times a week and......and did i mention that we had houseguests for eight weeks straight? it wasn't because of them that i started being sneaky around food, but i did, and i somehow forgot that i feel best when i plan my daytime meals, so i was starving at work because i forgot my brekkie, started having cake for lunch or 500g of full fat vanilla yoghurt and half a bag of crunchy granola or a bag of wasabi dusted macadamias.....and somehow i started prefering some clothes over others, and during bikram class, i couldn't slide into garurasana as deeply as i used to because my thighs seemed so plump (must be the water weight!), and then yesterday i realised that i had to put on my largest jeans for the three hour hike with the dog, which made me feel so bad that i couldn't stop reaching for the (homemade, healthy, vegan) biscuits after dinner.....and this morning i finally stepped on my scale again, and i weigh 71.3kg.

the number doesn't matter. i'm actually really surprised that it really doesn't matter. what matters though, is that i don't feel well, haven't really felt well for these past eight weeks, and probably the eight weeks before that, too, back when my weight was creeping up and i was in a total panic about it. it was good to stop being panicky. it was not good to stop being...me.

i've been looking after myself crappily, not feeding myself well, being secretive about food, taking extra servings (always so scared to miss out, to go hungry, to not have enough, unable to stop), and now my clothes don't fit, and and yes, i could buy bigger ones, but i really don't want to. i like my clothes. i liked, no, loved the way i felt in my body in the spring. i miss that feeling.

i love myself. i love my body. i'm not angry with it, for wanting and holding on to some extra weight, so soft on my hips and thighs (extra padding to distance myself from all these people invading my household, my life?). i'm not angry with myself for gaining these five, seven, eight, whatever, kgs. i'm just sad about this summer, which really lacked in the fun and happiness and sunshine and eating strawberries department, sad about the stress and the worries and about being unable to reach out.

i tried, in a variety of ways ways, actually. sitting in my docs office, whining about my intestinal worries and about life, to which he recommended homeopathic anti-anxiety-medication which i tried for two weeks and hated. i had a trainer appointment the week before last, where i complained to c. about being run down, and she told me to relax, to do less, to change my routine, to go to the sauna after class, and who let me weigh in without me knowing the number. that helped, somewhat. and yet last week, i had to crawl into my physio's office after throwing out my back in pump class. how many more messages from my body do i need? message received, body. it's time to look after you better again.

i know that it'll all get better. everything will get better. r. and i we're figuring out how i'll finally, properly move in this fall. we'll go to italy, twice (and i won't think twice about wearing a bikini), and in early october, i'll fly out to chicago for a long weekend with my dad to see my brother run his first ever marathon.

i owe it to myself to make good choices for myself, to really work out (and not just go through the motions), to relax and stretch and quiet my mind in yoga class and to feed myself well and to treat me gently and look after my emotions. i'm trying to keep it simple, right now. all changes that i do right now have to be substainable. no extreme measures, no bootcamp.

for now, i'm starting to weigh myself again daily and to track my food by counting points again.

so there.