When people ask me if I've lost weight, I cringe. If someone has noticed that I've lost weight, its because they've also noticed how I much I gained. And likely they've forgotten that not that long ago I was fit. And that sucks.
It seems like such a superficial worry when I have friends who deal with much worse than a little weight gain, and so I walk line between being sensitive to others and being acutely self-aware. But I'm human, so sometimes I can't help but begin the unsolicited, eristic rant designed to dispel the notion that I've given up, or am somehow satisfied. And then I feel compelled to show off beach pictures from a couple years ago and say, "see, this is my real body."
Four years ago, I was diagnosed with a interstitial cystitis. Since I know you'll go looking it up, I'll just tell you-its chronic bladder inflammation that creates urgency and referred pain. (Now I must also tell you that this is completely different from incontinence, which I absolutely do not suffer from). I started a course of medication my doctor advised should provide some relief. And then, two months in, the pounds started accumulating fast and furious. It was like someone had turned my furnace off and the ice was piling up.
Four years ago, I was diagnosed with a interstitial cystitis. Since I know you'll go looking it up, I'll just tell you-its chronic bladder inflammation that creates urgency and referred pain. (Now I must also tell you that this is completely different from incontinence, which I absolutely do not suffer from). I started a course of medication my doctor advised should provide some relief. And then, two months in, the pounds started accumulating fast and furious. It was like someone had turned my furnace off and the ice was piling up.
At first, I was comforted in the knowledge that I'd recovered from this road before. When I'd gotten my first job out of college, I went from waiting tables to sitting at a desk. I was also eating lunch out of a vending machine and dinner at a drive-thru so I could fall into bed when I got home each night. My buttons were clearly stressed out. But my lifelong love of all things active rebounded, my sleep cycle recovered, I found a grocery store, and I promised myself that would never happen again. Curiously though, this time no amount of marathon training (my third and fourth), triathlons, or biking to work was having the slightest impact on these new pounds. I begrudgingly tried elimination diets to rule out sudden onset of lactose intolerance, endured talks about aging and metabolism, was given advice about food choices and exercise. It was all fine and good, but I knew there was exactly one reason for my state-the drugs. And it was disheartening to know people scoffed at the excuse they believed I was giving myself. But now I must digress to mention not only weight gain, but other stuff that comes with trying to cure what ails you.
When I see commercials for medication to treat "x" and then the possible side effects are enumerated for a reallly looong time, I always wonder, "who would risk all that other stuff?" Well me, I did. And here's a fun side effect of my first medication: irritable bowel syndrome. You tell me what's worse-pain all over your lower abdomen due to bladder inflammation, or pain all over your lower abdomen because your bowels are clenching? I would be remiss if I didn't try to salvage my dignity by noting that I haven't actually had a bowel movement with my pants up in at least 37 1/2 years.
After 2 1/2 years of experiencing lots of annoyances and no discernible relief, I called it quits on both medications I had tried. It took another full year for most of the side effects to dissipate, except that one really demoralizing thing I had been working to fix all along. Knowing my family genetics, staying active and challenging myself physically have always been a priority, and never more so than these last few years. And its been equally important to me that people know I'm trying really hard. I can forgive myself many imperfections, but superficial as it may be, I feel I deserve my abs back.
My furnace now seems to slowly be coming back to life (in a cruel twist of fate, two months after my class reunion), and people are noticing. I'm not ready to embrace these changes, because I am skeptical about their permanence. If you compliment my effort and I grimace, it is not because I lack appreciation, but because I am reminded of self-doubt. Another side effect of this whole process: having to relearn to trust my effort, my instinct and my body.
After 2 1/2 years of experiencing lots of annoyances and no discernible relief, I called it quits on both medications I had tried. It took another full year for most of the side effects to dissipate, except that one really demoralizing thing I had been working to fix all along. Knowing my family genetics, staying active and challenging myself physically have always been a priority, and never more so than these last few years. And its been equally important to me that people know I'm trying really hard. I can forgive myself many imperfections, but superficial as it may be, I feel I deserve my abs back.
My furnace now seems to slowly be coming back to life (in a cruel twist of fate, two months after my class reunion), and people are noticing. I'm not ready to embrace these changes, because I am skeptical about their permanence. If you compliment my effort and I grimace, it is not because I lack appreciation, but because I am reminded of self-doubt. Another side effect of this whole process: having to relearn to trust my effort, my instinct and my body.
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