What Scares me the Most

So I can't do it by myself.  I cannot do it on my own.  I need some help.  I thought that by being a 41 year old woman I was mature, smart, organized, responsible, knowledgeable, and most importantly, strong enough to do this all by myself.  I will just count some calories, weigh some food, up my workouts and I will drop the weight.  Well I sort of did all of it.  Well some of the time.  Well not really.  But I did do it some.  And I didn't lose any weight.  Not a pound.  I tried to do better, be better, fuel better.  I couldn't do it.  Then all of a sudden January turned into February and I felt this horrible, familiar feeling creeping up inside me that it was going to be June and I will show up at marathon training and I will not have changed one thing.  

I have this fantasy.  Marathon Training starts on June 6th.  The first time I showed up for marathon training Honey Bunny took off for his team and his friends and left me to sit in the bleachers waiting for the meeting to begin all by myself.  I had never been so terrified in my entire life.  I was all alone in a stadium of a thousand people and I was the biggest fraud.  I tentatively looked around at the all of the athletes that were surrounding me and they all looked liked they belonged there.  Not me.  No sir. However, I stuck it out and dug deep and became a marathoner.  Somewhere between the beginning of that summer and the finish line I found out who I really am.  AMAZING!!!!

The next summer I sauntered into the stadium and jumped into the arms of all of my marathoning friends.  I left honey bunny to go sit with MY friends and fellow teammates.  I belonged.  I fit in.  I was welcomed.  I had already proven myself.  

But I was still fat.  I did not really look like a marathoner.  Believe me when I say this though - looks can certainly be deceiving and if you ever want to learn the lesson of not judging a book by it's cover than you need to hit the finish line of a marathon or even a 10K.  There have been many many people fatter than me that have dusted me on a run.  So I know this to be true but it doesn't make it any less truer for me that I don't want to be the person that everyone else is surprised by.  When I say I run marathons, I want people to say "do you?" instead of "you do?"

So, back to my fantasy.  This June I want to walk into the stadium for the first meeting and I want everyone to say - where the hell is Sarah?  Has anyone seen Sarah?  I want to be unrecognizable in my size Medium Nike Shorts.  My ultimate dream involves someone saying, excuse me - but you must be on the Black Team (these are the fast people that don't have to wear shirts when running and they are all trying to qualify for Boston)

So that's the fantasy.  And that is the reason why on Monday - yesterday - I went to Weight Watchers.  Yes I am depressed.  Today I stayed at home in the bed thinking I had come down with the flu.  Really I don't think I wanted to count any points.  I need help.  I can't do it on my own.  It's not that I can't face the scale.  I face it every day.  I know exactly how much I weigh.  I can't face the work.  I have never wanted to work hard.  I have never had to work hard.  When things get hard I don't do them.  I am good at being lazy.  

Now you may think this is crazy talk.  I have run a marathon.  Two marathons.  I have trained for two years for two really hard things.  I have not quit, I have been dedicated.  I have often tried to conjure the strength and guts it took to train and put it towards weight loss.  Counting points is infinitely not as rewarding as going for a run.  Weighing spaghetti does not give me a buzz.  10 miles does.  

I have also sustained a wonderful marriage to honey bunny - yes we've had some difficulties like everyone but we have made it work.  And I have given it work and love and patience.  Something I seem not able to give myself when the choice is between spinach and brownies.  

I can also mention that I have given birth to my little honey bunny and difficult pregnancy aside (which it was) I must say I have done a darn good job raising my little hellion.  He is awesome and smart and funny and caring and he just warms my heart at the mere thought of him.  

So when the hard work involves me getting something wonderful out of it and I enjoy it and I seem to show a small amount of talent then I jump all over it.  Love it, love it, love it.  

When it comes to food - I can't control it.  I believe that if it were heroin that I chose I would be in some alley or dead.  If it were alcohol, I would be at an AA meeting every day.  It has been shopping before but I have tried to control that and I have always had food as my backup.  

Honey Bunny wants me to be excited and get totally psyched up for committing to a plan and doing the work.  I wish it were that easy.  I am so afraid that I will let him down again.  That I will have wasted the money again.  That I will not be able to lose the weight.  That this journey will never end and I will give up like my Mom did.  That I will lose and the weight will win.  

I am afraid that I will never ever be able to stop myself from eating or binging.  I am afraid that I will never have a healthy relationship with food.  I am afraid that this is the best I will ever look.  I am afraid that I cannot do it.  I am afraid that I cannot do it.  I am afraid that I will never do it. I am afraid that my son will look at me with pity.  That he will grow up and wish that I had just lost the weight.  

When I thought that it was the weight that was causing my infertility, I couldn't lose it then.  When I found out my weight was causing my blood pressure and cholesterol to be out of whack, I couldn't lose it then.  When I had gestational diabetes and the doctor told me I would get adult onset diabetes unless I controlled my weight, I didn't lose it then.  

I have only wanted to lose it for vanity reasons.  I just want to be smaller.  I want to look better, I want to go into the store and try on a size 10 and it be too big.  I want people to look at me at the gym.  I want people to check me out when I am running and not for my gigantic breasts.  I want all of my hard work at the gym to pay off.  I don't think I will be happier when I am thinner.  I know I will be.  I am not waiting for my life to begin.  I am not putting anything on hold.  I am living and participating and dreaming and working and loving and going and doing.  I just want to look hot as shit while I am doing it.  That is my motivation.  What scares me the most is that my motivation is not as strong as my sabotaging.  I'll let you know after my meeting next Monday.