In the most roundabout way, I came to the realisation on the weekend that I ought to do something about my weight.
About three months ago, P was gifted a Westfield voucher, to spend at any store in a Westfield mall. At about the same time, he closed down an old credit card and used the last of his points to redeem a voucher. He picked a Bendon voucher for me to spend on frivolous underwear, something which we'd both enjoy. It was hosing down with rain on Sunday and the first voucher was nearly at the expiry date, so we decided to brave the mall.
I've written before that my boobs are not petite, or even mediumish. I am fairly tall and have a long torso, so I can carry some chest weight and I certainly do. I hated my boobs in my younger years because going braless (or even strapless bra'd) is not possible for me. I've learned to like them more as time has passed (familarity, I suppose, which in this case has not bred contempt but rather resignation and acceptance). I hemmed and hawed at Bendon over the bra selection, which was not extensive for those with a reasonably small band size but large cups. I eventually picked out a lovely one, but as I was assessing the fit in the mirror, the damage I've been doing to my midsection over the past couple of years was brutally apparent. We don't have a full length mirror at home, so I've only been looking at it from my own perspective, recently. I shrugged it off - fluorescent lighting always makes you look horrific, I thought.
Finished with the bra selection, we wandered to the electronics store to spend the other voucher. P eventually settled on Apple TV. We also bought an SD card converter thingee to get all our photographs from the camera to the iPad (P recently got one for work). I got antsy with all the people in the store and in the mall, so we scarpered for home.
Back at the Lavender Loveshack, P asked me to model my new knickers and I felt oddly reluctant. I shrugged him off. He set up the Apple TV instead, then downloaded a whole lot of photographs from the camera. Showing me how great the Apple TV is, he set up a slideshow of reasonably old photographs I haven't really seen before on our TV.
I freaked. Internally, I was berating myself that the photographs, none of which are particularly recent, were horrific. In my eyes, I was huge. I asked P to turn it off, snappily. He asked why. I wouldn't speak about it and he got cross.
I got up, and went for a run.
I downloaded food tracking apps and started a plank a day challenge.
I'm not going to be stupid about this. I'm running a 10k in November anyway with my sister (not that far, but she's on the mend from surgery on her ACL), so training is necessary. I could stand to cut back on the booze and treats. I'm not obese; I have a healthy BMI presently, for what that's worth (albeit at the high end of the range). I know that it is not realistic nor even desirable to expect that I'll lose over 10 kilograms. Five kilos would, however, make a world of difference to my own self-image.
By the by, P apologised for upsetting me. He thinks I get stupid about my self-image which might well be true but he recognised that what's required is compassion, not ire. In turn, I apologised for behaving petulantly.
I could be setting myself up for failure by writing about this at the outset, but processing it, writing it, makes me accountable, I hope.