So I had a session with my trainer tonight. And on a stupid whim, prior to leaving to meet him, I took my own waist measurement. Now, for some reason I am incapable of doing this properly. But I saw a number half an inch lower than last week, and I got the same number a couple of times. So when I arrived I asked him to check.
NOPE. I was up half an inch actually. HA. I was PISSED. LIVID. Frustrated. Angry. I felt the tears start to well up, and then I was crying. At my trainer. And I vented and ranted and told him how hard this is, and how I feel like none of my changes I'm making matter, and how this kind of failure makes me want to just go back to eating like crap since it's not making a difference, anyway.
He was calm. He tried to calm me down, but then he saw I was just a lit fuse that needed to burn out, and instead he talked. He told me it takes time. That it would take my body 3-4 weeks to reap the full effects of the dietary changes. He quizzed me about how I'd been eating, asked to be sure I was eating my several small meals a day since that's what works best for me. Then he weighed me, and as he did it, I ranted about how just the day prior my stupid scale told me I'd gained half a pound.
His scale told me I'd lost two pounds. WTF?
It didn't really make me feel better. Gain half an inch on my waist, lose two pounds. WTF?
I cannot describe how difficult this process is for me right now. Some parts of the day are fine, some days the eating is easier, some days the exercise is easier. But.
Somedays I feel like all I do is obsess over how and when and what to eat, and I still let myself down in some way. Somedays the exercise is hard, and I hate every second, and it feels like torture, and I want to quit. Somedays my clothes are just too damn tight somehow, and the scale is the same or higher, and I am not smart enough/adept enough/something enough to figure out how to accurately measure my own waist. And it makes me feel like crying. So sometimes I do cry. And it makes me feel like I have a current of raging frustration coursing through my body, so I sweat it out in a too hot bath, or a pounding shower. Sometimes it is just so, so, so, hard. And I wonder if I can even do this. Maybe I'm not meant to be any better than what I am now. Maybe this is the best I can achieve.
I had no idea when I started all of this how emotional it would be. How draining, how much of a rollercoaster it could be. I didn't know how much I would be tested, pushed to my limits, strained to the point of breaking.
But I also didn't know I could ever feel this strong. I didn't think I would ever feel my bicep and feel a toned muscle. I didn't know I would ever be capable of learning to use some of the machines I've learned, or to do some of the exercises I have. I didn't think I would ever put on fitted workout pants and a sports bra and look in the mirror and feel proud of myself. See the changes from my hard work. Feel the muscles in my thighs, my calves, even my stomach. I didn't know that I could be a person who stopped being addicted to Starbucks white mochas. Who sometimes can find willpower when it seems there is none left. Who can push through a hard workout and never, ever leave without at least 30-40 minutes under my belt. I didn't know any of this.
When I was getting ready to leave after my session, I told my trainer I was sorry for crying at him. He assured me easily that it was okay. That I wasn't the first, and it happens a lot. And he told me to be patient, and he told me I'd done a good job.
And I believe him.
I don’t need your sarcasm, cats.
4 hours ago