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.