Tuesday, July 10, 2012
This is really hard to admit, and I'd probably much rather keep it to myself, but I need to get it out of me and out there in some way.
Two years ago, I was 150 pounds, the lowest body weight I've ever been. Now, I'm 220 pounds, right where I started from on my last attempt. In two years, I've gained 70 pounds. It goes without saying, but that's an awful lot of weight.
About two years ago, I injured my knee and spent almost three months barely able to leave my room. It was very difficult for me to get back into a workout habit, especially if my knee flared up again if I worked just a little too hard. My diet started slacking, my activity plummeted, my clothes started to get too tight, and my self-esteem all but disappeared.
I keep telling myself that I can do this a second time, but it's a daunting thought. I didn't have to deal with the idea that I gained all the weight back--that I "failed"--the first time.
But these last two years are NOT solely defined by all the weight I gained. My one-year marriage anniversary is next Saturday (and I still have great stories about wearing my wedding dress on a public bus). I gained a second family who I'm so lucky to be so close to, even if they're so far away. I faced my fears of travelling alone. I started college, and am very pleased with my 3.76 GPA. I made a small group of close friends, and reconnected with old ones. I learned some Mandarin (去年, 我在学༉
语!) I read more books in the last year than I might have for my entire life. I have a spouse, parents, friends, in-laws, and a dog who all want me to succeed (the dog can perceive the happiness in my success, at least).
I didn't fail; this is just a bump in the road.