FitnessFixation.com

When I started this site, my idea was to do something that broke from so much of the fitness crap out there. I was bored to death by articles like, “How to Lose Five Pounds in a Week” delivered in this annoying voice, that cross between a Diet Coked-up aerobics instructor and a tsk tsking hall monitor. Those fitness writers made the whole thing sound so easy, so ‘anyone can do it,’ pom poms in one hand and wagging finger on the other. I wanted this site to be funny and bitchy and authentic, the kind of thing you might be able to read even if you didn’t care so much about push ups and pounds.

I don’t know if it succeeds most days, but as more and more people write for this, I can tell you one thing is crystal clear: the folks who grace FF with their wisdom are the real deal. For sure. And I get lots out of their funny-ass stories and their struggles and their willingness to lay it down truthy-style.

But I don’t think I was prepared for Tsan to make me get all worked up. Tsan! Who makes me laugh with her camping stories and wisecracks in class. I love her funny. But when I coerced her through threat of burpees kindly asked her to share her grand conclusion to her dare (and do check this for the link with pictures and all), I wasn’t really prepped to be all kind of melty inside. I just love this. I do. And as I’ve always hoped, I think even if you aren’t working towards a weight loss goal or better bench press or what-have-you, you could use this for something in life. At least I can. Tsan, you emotion-wringing ho!

‘Kay, here you go.

When “Good Enough” Actually Is:

I have grey hair, cellulite, belly fat, stretch marks, and really really old-looking hands, but I still have my dignity intact. Having managed to drop 10 lbs in the 11th hour, I am spared the humility of posing in a bikini on fitnessfixation. There is a g-d (although [s]he is a really petty one, since I still cannot fit into my Karl Lagerfeld silk chiffon skirt).

I could tell you how I lost it, but you already know: stick with it, decrease the sugar, control your portions, drink lots of water, 86 the carbs, and get thee to a gym(erie). Notwithstanding the excruciatingly painful month this has been on the whine-ometer, I need to stop sniveling and drop the rest. But this isn’t about the perseverance of a curmudgeonly ex-athlete prone to overindulgence on cupcakes and cambozola. This is about mustering up enough self-love to be good to yourself. Not me, mind you. I have an ego the size (apparently) of Senator Craig’s foot. But I digress:

So there I was at a friend’s birthday party where all manner of fat-and-carbo-filled debauchery was set before me. The host was an accomplished cook, and by any definition obese, the latter being a fairly recent development. Watching her hobble from kitchen to table, her ankles almost too weak to hold her body weight, I felt the incipient pain that is inevitable when your heart breaks.

She wasn’t OK (duh!). Her disconsolate demeanor and corresponding story of the past year sounded like a 48 Hours outtake. Had I gone through something similar, I’m not sure I would be able to dress myself, much less control my eating. How could I tell her she was killing herself without sounding like some bombastic Dr. Phil? So I shut my trap (no mean feat), expressed a desire to walk around the lake sometime with her, and told her that despite everything, she looked great.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said to me. Then the bombshell: “Look at you. I’ll never be your size. Why set myself up for failure?”

I got a bunch of advanced degrees that are supposed to portend intelligence, but not until this moment with this friend did I realize that losing (and gaining) weight is about where you are right now. I know how annoying it can be to listen to some insipid Stuart Smalley wax on about how we’re all good people, but I think there are some closet readers out there who need to hear this.

Life is full of side-tracking moments and people of various influence that can derail us from whatever goals we set for ourselves. But healthiness is not about living up to any standard except the one we set for ourselves. Whether we’re longtime athletes pushing ourselves to muscle fatigue or just-off-the-couch potatoes pushing past a second lap around the living room, the point is to meet yourself where you’re at and embrace that place, Oprah-style.

If the goal is to beat your best mile time, that’s the goal. If it’s to sit on the bike for 5 minutes and maybe pedal tomorrow, g’on girl. If the whole freaking week is dedicated to not sitting next to Whiner McDowner in the lunchroom, make it so. And know that even though you’ll never meet me, you’re my hero. No, for real.

I know that was a little too much mush for one ff entry, and perhaps it’s the light-headedness of not having had a freaking piece of bread in a month that made me write it. If people really are interested in the agony of my boring-ass weight loss story, I’ll spill (there are a lot of swear words in it, though). But today, my friend called. She walked around Lake Merritt. I had to watch CNN so I wouldn’t cry.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 4th, 2007 at 7:34 pm and is filed under Tsan, cake, challenge, feelings, first person, love, sanity, truth or dare. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.