So, I Cried at the Gym

The words wouldn't come out.

Looking up at the ceiling, I tried to blink back the tears.

Standing right in front of me was my trainer, trying her hardest to erase all the defeating thoughts from my head. I understood what she was saying. It's all the stuff I know. But there I was, twenty five pounds overweight, wondering why I let it happen.

My hands covered my eyes and I just let it go. I sobbed out the words, "I don't know how I let myself get here. I don't know why I did that to myself."

She squeezed my arms and said, "Well, now you've got me to help you out."

I always joke around that my "furnace is broke" because I don't have a naturally high (or even moderate) metabolic rate. I'm a slow burn kinda girl, so when the fat needs to come off, I can't just change my food intake... I have to kick my ass into high gear. But I kinda lost my workout mojo over the last couple of years, so working with a trainer has been good. Whenever I feel like stopping, I hear Drea say, "Dig deep! Dig deep!" She's worked with enough people to know what's going on in our heads and what she needs to say to silence that self-defeating talk. Because working out is hard and giving up is easy.

It's so easy to make excuses. It's easy to tuck behind your friends in pictures so that you don't cringe when you're tagged on Facebook. It's easy to look around and say, Well, I'm not bigger than her. It's easier to just pop open a bag of chips and guzzle it down with a bottle of pinot grigio while watching a Real Housewives marathon. And it's a hell of a lot easier to just buy a bigger size and talk yourself into being cool with it.

But I'm not cool with it.

Last week, I was doing planks. Propped up on my elbows, I looked down towards my ankles to check my form. That's when I saw it. The extra weight hanging off of my thighs like bags of cottage cheese. I remember thinking, "I did NOT order this cheese!" After our workout, I showed Drea a picture of myself in Vegas nearly two years ago, sans cheese. At the time, I loved how I looked. In pictures, there were no bad angles. I looked and felt strong and healthy and I had swagger, bitches!!

So what happened?

It all started fairly innocently. Mr. Jones and I got back together and snuggling up to my husband under the blankets in the morning became more important than my 5:00am sunrise yoga sessions. And because we were so happy to be back together, we went out to eat. A lot. It was great "dating" him again, but when I went to put on my favorite pair of jeans and they wouldn't button, I was shocked! Apparently not THAT shocked, because instead of attacking the fat... instead of getting back out on the beach for a morning jog or back into the yoga studio for some slow burning... instead of working out,

I bought a bigger size.

I can blame it on being lulled into contentment, but really, if I'm gonna be honest, it's because I wasn't making my physical health a priority. I wasn't carving out the time to do what needed to be done. And it didn't help that I was starting to get used to the extra pounds. I mean, if my husband found me attractive, that was enough, right? And when I'd complain to friends about the weight, they would just excuse it as my "happy" pounds. It's true. I was happy, so I started to trick myself into thinking this extra weight was part of getting older and it was okay.

But there was this chick deep down inside who was getting really pissed that she was being hidden by all that extra fluff, and she kept screaming at me that I'm not that old and it's NOT okay, but I couldn't really hear her over the crunching of potato chips, so...

At that point, I needed to lose 15 pounds.

Fast forward to now.

Last week, I stepped on a scale before my work out. Nobody made me. I just wanted to know. It was kind of like pulling at a scab just to see if it would bleed. When I saw the number, the floor seemed to just fall away. I couldn't believe I really had gained all that weight. I no longer had 15 pounds to lose. I now have 25 pounds to lose!! When I walked over to meet Drea at the first machine, I asked her how accurate the scale was.

Drea: Why?

Me: Just tell me.

Drea: Mama, you have been working out and muscle weighs more...

Me: Is. It. Accurate????!!!

Drea: *blink* *blink*

Me: Shit. It is, huh?

And then she got all fired up: "Stay away from the scales, girl! NO SCALES! Just work, mama!"

She's right. If I focus on the number, I'll get depressed, say "Screw it," and give up. I know I need to get into the gym and make my furnace burn! Drea has pushed me to do my best, giving me encouragement for the improvements she has seen in the short time we've been working out. I've noticed it, too. With the accountability and encouragement of a trainer, I know I can get back to that body I had in Vegas.

I WILL get that swagger back!


Have you struggled with weight because life got in the way? What were your excuses? What has been the thing (or who has been the person) that has helped you get back on the healthier body kick?