When It Just Isn't Enough

Today, I went to Chuck E. Cheese with my family before my weight in. I ordered the salad bar, and had two slices of cheese pizza with my salad. I drank water, and had what I thought was a reasonable meal. Then at 5:00, I went to my weigh in.

I gained two pounds this week.

When the receptionist gave me that little sticker, and I saw that +2 on it, it took everything I had not to burst into tears standing there.

I am the girl who absolutely loathed exercise. I always joked about how I don't run unless something's chasing me, and even then, it had better pose a large amount of harm to me, or I'm still not running. My idea of a workout was parking at the other end of the parking lot. I've never been a gym junkie, and I was perfeectly happy that way.

But I've made a complete turn around lately. Since joining the YMCA a couple of weeks ago, I've made exercise a part of my daily routine. I actually feel cheated if I miss a day. Before I lay down to sleep each day, I have already planned out my activity for the next day. Slowly, but surely, I'm turning into the one thing I swore I would never be...an exercise freak.

My poison of choice lately has been swimming. I absolutely love it, and the thought of getting in that pool and giving it all I've got makes me all giddy. I relish in the feel of kicking off the wall, and love the burn that I feel when I pause to catch my breath. Once upon a time, the smell of a pizza, the taste of warm chocolate chip cookies, and the feel of the taco seasoning burning on my tongue were the sensations that brought me the most comfort. Lately, though, those have been replaced by the smell of chlorine, the burn in my arms and thighs, and the feeling of my body slicing through the water. Swimming has brought me such immense pride in myself and an overwhelming feeling of calm. It's a totally zen experience for me, and when my body lifts out of that water to exit the pool, I have a smile on my face, because I know that I've pushed my body to its limits and that little chunk of time that I was in the water feels like a mental vacation. It's just me, the water, and my breathing.

Then today, with that one little number with that unholy plus sign in front of it has made me question the very thing that I have grown to love so deeply.

I talked with my leader after I stepped away from the scale, and she asked me if I felt sore. I told her that my thighs, my arms, and my shoulders do feel sore, and have been sore for a while. She explained to me that when someone who has never worked out like me starts such a strict regimen of exercise, the muscles retain water to cope with the damage, because in order to build muscle, it first has to undergo a great physical strain. We also discussed the fact that I ate my Chuck E. Cheese meal just a couple of hours before my weigh-in, and I usually work the night before my weigh in day, so I usually don't eat anything for five or more hours before my weigh-in. She encouraged me to continue the activity and to not give up.

I'm not going to give up. No way in hell. But that doesn't mean that I'm no discouraged.

My head knows that there are valid reasons why I gained that weight. I've studied anatomy and physiology, and I know how the body works. My brain says that it's okay, but my heart is a little more reluctant to move on. I have cried so hard this evening, and I've been so incredibly disappointed. I could have handled a little gain. A 0.5 or even a full pound I could have rationalized away. But two pounds? It feels like a kick in the gut. I feel as if my heart has been stomped on and the breath has been stolen from my lungs. My brain is looking at the science behind it, but my heart just cries out, "I've worked too damn hard to gain two pounds!"

So here I sit, trying to stop the tears and put the anger into it. I know that when I get to the Y tomorrow I'll put that frustration into my workout. But right now, my ego is bruised and I'm questioning everything about this entire process.

It's amazing how in the span of five months I gained forty pounds without even feeling the teensiest bit guilty until I decided to join Weight Watchers and saw what my start weight was. But a two pound gain has me crying like somebody I love just died. It really doesn't make sense to be this upset over it, and once again, my brain knows this. But my heart is a little slower to learn.

So tomorrow, it gets personal. I'm going to be back at the Y to work out, and I'm going to fight like I've never fought before. When I think about slacking off, that two pounds is going to jump to mind, and I'm going to pick the pace up again. I'm going to use this setback as the motivation to power through it.

Next Wednesday, March 18, 2009. I'm going to look that two pounds in the face, smirk, and give it a double middle finger salute.