I ate cake at a baby shower today.
Four years ago this wouldn't have been noteworthy.
A year ago this wouldn't have been noteworthy.
But here I find myself, trying to lose weight. I've ballooned up before, unwittingly, and then before I really knew I had gained any weight (because my family and friends were kind enough not to point out my new physique), I had people commenting on how skinny I was, alerting me that somehow I must have gained weight because then I somehow lost it.
I'm not sure when exactly I gained the bulk of it, but I've gained about 30 pounds during the four years I've lived in Los Angeles.
I'm not counting today's cake as a failure. It was there, there were grapes as an alternative, but I went for the cake. I didn't feel too terrible about it.
I had oatmeal with fruits and nuts for breakfast, washed it down with black coffee. For lunch I had a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, Diet Coke. After work I took a giant bottle of water to the pool -- IN MY BIKINI, even though I don't love my bikini bod right now -- and did approximately 24 minutes of activity.
I swam like a frog, I swam "normally" (no goggles, so my head was above water, so not exactly great form, but it was something of a freestyle stroke). I treaded water. I jogged in the shallow end.
Then I came inside, drank more water, and threw various things into a plastic container:
quinoa, cooked yesterday in bouillon broth
I poured some balsamic vinaigrette on it and ate it up while watching Bunheads.
I actually enjoyed eating it.
I feel a little bit calm. Not frenzied, or like I should be doing, or want to be doing five things at once.
Yesterday around this time I was pretty grumpy. I wanted a beer. I wanted pizza or something similar.
Instead I put some quinoa in a pot, and while it bubbled under a lid I journaled. I wrote about my grumpiness, I typed out what I had eaten that day. I ate the dry quinoa, smacking my tongue against my mouth's roof, grumpy, bored, but fine. Living.
I finished up and started stitching, while Alex wrote nearby.
I got sleepy.
I went to bed.
A half hour later Alex woke me up.
I went back to stitching, then Alex left.
Then I went to bed for real.
I survived the quinoa humdrum. And I made it to and through today, where the worst thing I ate was cake.
For a brief moment I actually felt soothed in the water this evening, going back and forth, making waves, easy motion with my arms, almost forgetting my legs (except for when I do that weird kick thing with my left leg, what's that about?).
Now I sit here in dry clothes, with wet hair, and Max cat is lying completely on his back. I think he's hot.
Here I am. A little more plush than I'd like to be.
But I still like me.
I have the best cat. The best boyfriend. I love to laugh. I love music. Love to write, to stitch, to hug my girlfriends and support them and remind them they're beautiful, curves or no.
I'm not real thrilled about being on a journey that requires effort, but a lot of the coolest things I've done in life have required a little bit of courage and oomph.
Studying abroad halfway across the world. Exploring Vienna on my own. Moving to Los Angeles. Walking through the doors of that bar to go on my first date with Alex (he wasn't scary, I was just a timid dater).
Now if you'll excuse me I have a cat to smooch. And I need to rinse off this chlorine. Get into my jim jams and enjoy my evening. Avoiding cake but not hating myself.
Xoxoxo to all of you, no matter your size. You are wonderful and just the way you're meant to be.