I wish losing weight meant that it was just lost, gone forever like the helium balloon that always got away from me as a kid no matter how many knots my dad tied in the string around my wrist.
My mom always told me the struggle with weight would be “a lifelong battle,” but this is ridiculous. You would think that after a certain point I’d sort of get the hang of it, figure out a way to achieve and maintain the body that I’m willing to work so hard for.
Not.
I was thinking about this in yoga the other day as I found myself situated in the front row next to a woman with not a single ounce of body fat. She always wears these cute little yoga outfits, lace-trimmed shorts with floral patterns and matching tops with long straps that wrap around her tiny, muscular back.
Her long hair is always neatly pulled into two braids while my short, shaggy layers stick out every which way no matter how many barrettes and hair bands I use, curly and frizzy from the humid studio.
I wear whatever mismatched workout clothes aren’t in my dirty clothes pile, often regretting my choice – not because I care what anyone else thinks, but because I have to stare at myself in the mirror for 90 minutes and can’t ignore how ridiculous I look.
Because her limbs are so thin and narrow, she seems to have no problem wrapping them into knots with ease while I struggle, wobbling around while those love handles bulge from out of my pants like toothpaste coming out of a tube. I know I’m supposed to focus on the posture and not on my spare tire, but it’s hard. I get frustrated. I get upset.
I realize I’m being hard on myself, but that’s sort of the point. I’ve always been an athlete, consistent and disciplined about my diet and workout routine. But no matter what I do, no matter how hard I train or how careful I am about what I eat, I can never lose weight.
So what? Vanity aside, it’s about performance, that’s what. The bottom line is it’s no fun lugging all that extra weight around, whether I’m pedaling my butt up to the top of Thunderhead at Steamboat, skinning up to the Linley Hut, making the long hump up Mount Sopris or training for a marathon. It not only slows me down, causes chronic injuries like tendinitis, joint problems and other aches and pains. It’s not so much about squeezing into tight jeans as it is about obtaining that ideal strength-to-weight ratio, the efficiency that’s a key weapon in the fight against gravity.
Last spring, I was the smallest I’ve ever been in my life. I am exactly 5 feet tall and I weighed around 108 pounds – not under or over weight for my height, but exactly where I’ve always wanted to be. I wore a size 2 and enjoyed how much easier every sport I participated in felt. It was so much less weight to carry than the year before, when I topped out at around 130.
The thing is, I was depressed. A man I thought I was in love with rejected me for a stunning woman who was 10 years younger than I am. Driven by a catty, competitive instinct, I wanted to reassure myself that I was as good as she was (or that it was “his loss,” as so many of my friends would say). It was easy for me to stay on a rigid workout and diet program when I had engaged myself in some demented, imaginary competition with her. Some women like Ben & Jerry’s, but I’m more about the proverbial StairMaster, killing myself and going nowhere.
It turns out the woman in my yoga class is a local nutritionist who specializes in raw foods. After talking to her after class one day, I started to imagine my new life as a raw foods eater. I could imagine scrubbing the toxins from my insides like sweeping lint from under my bed. But then I think about that barbecue I was invited to on the Fourth of July, going, “Sure, I’ll have that burger – just make sure you don’t cook it.” No way.
So where does the balance lie? How can I maintain a weight that’s realistic so I don’t have to keep struggling? When does the yo-yoing end? I guess my mom is right. It is a lifelong battle. The weight I lose is never really lost, it’s just temporarily misplaced.
Freelance columnist Alison Berkley can be reached at alison@berkleymedia.com.
