I go through the days thinking well, I don’t look *that* bad.
And then I see some pictures (of course, of which I untag myself) on Facebook, and BAM! Wrong. (One day, when I can bother to figure out how to blur my face, I’ll even post some)
I have a lot of work to do.
I’m not sure what I’m really going to end up doing with this, but well, here goes.
I’m fat. Not like totally huge, but not small. Like a size 12. I know to some people, that’s not a big deal, but to me it is. See, 5 years ago, I was a size 4 and crazy in shape. I did a freaking IronMan. Aaaaaaaand six weeks later I was pregnant.
There’s more to everything, of course. Five years before THAT, I was also fat. Then I got an unexpected medical diagnosis, and I kicked my own ass in gear. I completely overhauled my diet, took up exercising like it was religion, and lost somewhere around 40 or 45 pounds. I ran marathons. I did triathlons. I went to spin class at 5:30 am, because I wanted to.
When I was in training for IronMan, I relaxed a little on the food front. My daily workouts totaled between 2 and 3 hours, and I had to keep on top of my calories to get through them. After the race, I just never went back to how I should be eating. Now, 3 pregnancies and 2 kids later, I am back where I started. And it sucks.