Either Lay Down and Whine, Or Stand Up and Fight

I spent the month of January in Southern Illinois filming a movie.  While I was there I put on 40 pounds – five pounds more than I lost from March to December of last year.  There was a Gold’s Gym nearby and we had free day passes, but I didn’t go very often.  There were also free breakfast sandwiches in the hotel and the on set catering was both plentiful and delicious, and I took part in these things VERY often. 

Noticing I was a bit bummed about the way I’m looking and feeling, someone very important to me sent me this:

“Don’t worry about your body. It isn’t as small as it once was, But honestly, the world needs more of you. You look in the mirror like you’ve done something wrong, But you look perfect. Anyone who says otherwise is telling a lie to make you feel weak. And you know better. You’ve survived every single day, for as long as you’ve been alive. You could spit fire if you wanted.” ~ Clementine von Radics

I get this. I respect this. But this is not for me.

From March to December of last year I exercised and I dieted to unprecedented levels.  Not only did I lose weight, which was the goal, but I also invoked my sense of discipline, sacrifice, accomplishment.  I set a goal and I met it. I took August and September off from the gym and I didn't backslide, I didn't gain any weight, and I thought I'd entered a new phase of my life. Especially when I went BACK to the gym.

This new phase allowed me to run my first 15K. This new phase gave me the ability to carry out some awesome fight choreography during A Klingon Christmas Carol. This new phase gave me what I needed to be able to carry out an amazing burlesque duet. This new phase allowed me to put something back into the world, to help create something for others to enjoy. Believe me when I say I could not have run so far, leapt so high (literally), or lifted or spun Hedy around had I been at my previous physique.

This whole January I lost all discipline and control. Almost every morning I had a breakfast of sausage, egg, and cheese croissants until I nearly burst, then I went back to bed. Every time I had the catering I filled myself until I was uncomfortable because the food was just too delicious to pass up. It was so easy to excuse myself away from the gym, so I stayed in my hotel room and watched TV and played video games and gained literally everything I lost last year. I wish this was an exaggeration, but it's just not.

The whole reason I started exercising last March was to fit into a vest that now no longer fits again. It was a present, and when I first tried to put it on I realized I needed to lose at least four inches off my waist before I could button it.  By July it fit.  I put it on in November and it was loose on me;  I could button it and slide a hand into the gap between my gut and the fabric. Yesterday I couldn't do more than one button. I tried the second one, but it would have broken before it met the other side.

When I get fatter I lose confidence because I don't like the way it feels on me when I move around, or even when I'm sitting still. I hate the bloated feeling. I hate that I don't move through the world as easily, which is to say that it's harder to even stand up or walk around. Grace evaporates. My muscles haven't lost any of their strength, but now they have to haul more weight around. Weight which also moves my center of gravity forward, makes me feel off-balance. Also my back injury hurts more.

I don't understand the statement "The world needs more of you" as justification for gaining weight. When I'm bigger the world gets less of what I'm capable of putting into it. I look in the mirror like I've done something wrong because my weight gain was a result of losing discipline. Because I kept taking from the world in the form of delicious meals, which inhibits my ability to put anything back into it, and my net value as a human being drops.

This isn't to suggest that nothing good came of January. I had a hell of a career opportunity which paid off wonderfully. And I was a part of creating something for others to enjoy. But I also quit writing in spite of the fact I still had things to say; I just didn't have the energy to string my thoughts together. I blame this lack of energy on my hedonism and inability to sacrifice ANY temporary comfort for self-improvement more than I blame my wonky schedule.

Yes, the shooting schedule screwed my sleeping hours around, but I know better than to have let that become my excuse. It's not like I got back in February, looked down, and suddenly said, "Holy shit, where did THIS come from?!" I felt it happening as it was happening, and I knew the cause, and I knew I was going to hate it, and I made the choice to do nothing about it.

Now I choose to go the other direction. I'm back to the grocery store purchases and gym habits that gave me my previous physique. I don't even write all this to lament my position or to fire back at the above statement; I write all this to re-sharpen my writing voice and get back to SAYING something. To DOING something. To improve myself so I can put something into the world rather than merely taking from it.

I don't judge myself based upon who I am or what I look like. I judge myself based upon what I DO weighed against what I'm CAPABLE of doing. It's an ever-shifting dynamic, and I hope to perpetually endeavor to keep up with the shift.