Being my own worst enemy…

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There really is nothing worse.

That feeling of having the world around you support whatever endeavor you decide to embark on and yet the constant battle of just moving ever so slightly forward continues to happen in your brain. Your body. Your emotions.

I feel like that’s where I’ve been for quite a while. You wouldn’t really know it, what with the FB/IG updates of pictures of heavy weights and clean food but truth be put right there in the front of things: Life is a struggle of sorts.

Not a “oh woe is me, all is horrible and nothing is right in my life” nor a “I can’t cope so I’ll shove this entire chocolate cake from the bakery into my piehole” (though I’ve been having more than my share of ice cream and those damn delicious pop chips) but rather a “come on Tee, just a little tweak here and a maybe a lot of tweaking there and you’re back on track…”

It would be awesome to sit at this laptop that I’ve sort of come to despise with all it’s running programs that aren’t getting updated and it’s weight loss blog posts that are in fact no longer about weight loss and heading towards becoming about weight gain and what the fuck is happening to my body right now, and hash it out like I used to. Not able to see the keyboard through the tears and snot running down my face, getting in touch with the layers upon layers of emotions I didn’t know existed until I finally decided to exist in my own life instead of just letting life trample all over me.

The kind of existing that left me sensitive to the world around me. Vulnerable. Raw. Afraid to be in the moment and simultaneously terrified of NOT being in the moment. Looking at everything around me and wondering “is this helping or hindering” then making choices and decisions depending on the direction I was heading…

Now it’s a constant battle of “Why can’t I just fucking get this shit together”?

Sometimes I wish (and I’m probably going to get a lot of flack for the next statement) I was in a place where I could say I gained all the weight back…that I was heavier now than when I started this journey.

Whatever you’re thinking, just keep thinking it to yourself.

Of course in the grand scheme of shit people wish for, weighing almost 300 pounds is never really something a person truly wants. What I want is that fight. That inner strength of fighting for that first 3 minute run or the crazy fear of stepping up to a starting line for the first time. I want that sweaty hands/heart beating fast as I drive past the McDonald’s because more than anything I want two cheeseburgers/large fry/large diet coke and instead I’m going to go home and attempt to get in my kitchen and make something I’m going to love as much as that greasy balled up paper bag hidden deep at the bottom of Dusty’s garbage can.

I think my problem is I don’t know what I’m supposed to be fighting for these days.

I know I don’t like where my body is at right in this moment of time. While I’m not at my heaviest, topping the scales at around 280 pounds, the 20 pounds that I’ve gained since leaving Costco in February sits very uncomfortably. Body dsyphoria of having to buy bigger pants in the thighs from (fingers crossed) bigger muscles but also knowing it’s because there is a definite weight gain not having to do with muscle mass. Wanting to clean up my food but having that gnawing in the back of my brain that says “But you’re still at a healthy weight” and “most people would kill to say they’ve maintained a 100 pound weight loss” makes it that much more difficult.

Wanting to run more but not wanting to give up the weights that I move around means races that are becoming ever closer are starting to look like the impossible. Shortening distances in hopes that I’ll put it together in enough time to cross over a finish line and not feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew when not that long ago I could bite down, chew on and spit out a half-ironman like it was no one’s business.

I’ve have taken some small steps to try and get some things figured out. Red and I have started meal planning again, sitting down every Sunday and basically letting her decide what we’ll have meal wise, then I take over and implement them. I find it easier that way than trying to come up with something she might like when out of the two of us I’m more likely to eat anything put in front of me. She decides what she wants and I make sure she gets it (as any beautiful wife should). We’ve thrown around the idea of sitting down with a dietitian. I’m a little leery just because I don’t want someone to tell me to replace my food foundation with low-carb/fat-free/sugar-free crap out of box rather than chopped/diced/peeled/sauteed/bbq’d/pinch of this spice/dash of that spice kind of cooking that I’ve come to rely on (though again, I’ve been having my fair share of grabbing a the bag of pop chips and heading to the beach kind of munching).

I’m getting out of my comfort zone just the tiniest of bits and doing mobility classes in hopes it keeps my hamstrings from seizing up, yoga (not the touchy feeling kind either because that’s way too out of my comfort zone) but rather more crossfit focused yoga until maybe I feel a little more “touchy” and “feely” about the idea of downward dogging or tree posing for extended periods of time. I’ve reached out to coaches about adding more endurance to my crossfit life because deep down inside I really do miss running but don’t know how to find the balance.

I guess I’ll see where all of this takes me over the next few weeks/months and hope that no matter how small the steps are they are all going in the right direction. Figuring out that direction is probably the toughest part but if it was supposed to be easy I’m pretty sure we’d all have our shit together in nice neat little stink free boxes…