Yesterday's post on my addiction to exercise was prompted by my annual visit to the ob/gyn. As part of the assessment I got my height and weight checked, and while the good news was that I 'grew' to 5'8 1/2 " due to yoga, I also gained another few pounds. I'm now at the weight that I kept more or less study for 6 years after being diagnosed with celiac and before I started marathon training. Though I am in a normal raange for my height and my personal experience, the weight gain threw me for a mental loop. I've gained almost 20 pounds since January, and though I desperately needed at least 15 of those, the extra five hit the 'calculate' button on my "American woman weight calculator."
I don't usually diet when I need to lose weight, though sometimes I cut out dessert and sugary snacks (never a bad idea). My bad habit, which started in college when I swam for an anorexic and weight-fixated coach, is to exercise like crazy to justify any calories I take in during the day.That is not safe or healthy for me to do anymore, so I'm left with trying on a new mode of thinking, which is that a few extra pounds + good health and energy to be a good wife and mother = a much better equation than being skinny, sick, anxious and temperamental. Though that comparison seems obvious, it's actually difficult to maintain after decades of brainwashing by the culture and after the bizarre amount of compliments I received on my appearance when I was underweight and running myself to death. Well-meaning friends and relatives told me frequently that I looked great, in an almost inverse proportion to how I felt. I am struggling to shake that off and to make sure I am clear in my own mind that feeling good is the most important measure of all.
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