INSPIRATION

It’s Tuesday. Weigh-in day at the Douglas. For seven weeks, this was the day that set the tone for the week.

Performance has always been my most powerful fuel. I fed off my achievements, defined myself by my own personal metrics. So…Tuesdays took on a whole new meaning for me: report card time! At the start of the Program, gaining weight and getting better were my goals – the former being a leading indicator of the latter. After my first weigh-in, an “F” by all accounts, where I lost weight rather than gaining the requisite 500g, I did what any results-oriented person does. I looked back at my daily food journal to identify where I went wrong and identify corrective actions. 

While I was doing this, though, I realized a few things…things I refused to acknowledge, things I refused to share.

First, deep, deep, deep down, I didn’t want to gain weight. Sure, I wanted to stay in the Program but I was not prepared for the fear, unhappiness and distortions that would accompany the gain of even a single gram. It took a few weeks for me to see this…I guess I had to actually gain a bit for it to hit home. Still,  it was always in the back of my mind…quietly and covertly guiding my hand. I saw all the efforts I was making and used them as examples of progress. And, they were. But, at the same time, I refused to see the actions I was taking to sabotage myself.

Second, I was in control overdrive. Have no fear, Peikert is here…ready to control exactly how much weight she gains. Oh yes, I was deluded into thinking that I could manipulate my eating to gain exactly 500g. The first week I tried this, I missed weight. The second week I tried this, I missed weight. And…well…you guessed it. Somehow, I kept repeating the same pattern, telling myself it would work. Isn’t that the definition of insanity? Well, welcome to Crazytown!

In the end, though, I did gain weight…enough to reach the weight I was last year…my former comfort zone.

Hazah! I reached the weight I was a year ago! I’m fixed! Right? Right?

Hmmmm…it would appear not. Turns out, my comfort zone weight has been lowered. So I am now really, really uncomfortable. I look in the mirror and magically the junk in my trunk has tripled in size. What to do? What have I turned to for years to help me feel comfortable with being uncomfortable? “Restriction….” my brain whispers, like Gollum whispers “precious…”

Only now I know that restriction is not the answer and I cringe at this awareness because it leaves me with only 2 options: pretend or fight. Some days I feel like I should just pretend. To the world, I look healthy…ish. So why not pretend all is perfect, go back to work and put an oscar-winning performance, allow my future achievements to propel me forward. In the long run, the risks of doing this are high but it is incredibly tempting in the short term. 

Or, wearily, I think…you can fight. Again.

Fighting can be hard; inspiration helps. Lucky for me, I know a group of women who are putting on their armor today, preparing for weigh-in. Women who have spent weeks, months, lifetimes battling. Women who will get on the scale and, no matter the number, no matter the pain and fear, will carry on. They are my heroes and my inspiration.

I was among these women. And, while I am not in the Day Program anymore…I know deep down that I am still one of them. Gladiators.

Time for breakfast…hmmm…looks like I have some choices to make.