I’ve been contemplating my weight loss (or lack thereof) a lot lately. Who on this journey doesn’t at some point? I’m doing better than I have in the past, but not as good as I should be, or rather, could be doing. I’ve said it before that when I’ve tried to lose weight in the past it usually has a deadline on it, like I have an event of some sort coming up (party, extended family in town, a trip) and if I hit a point several months before where I know that my ‘goals’ aren’t going to be met, I give up. Why keep trying if I’m not going to look how I want to look anyway?
Well it hit me this week that I will not be meeting my goals for the two big events that I have planned for this year. Not only will I not be anywhere near my goals, but in the past 6 to 7 months that I have known these events were going to happen, I’ve barely lost anything at all. To say that I am disappointed in myself at this point would be a gross understatement.
I have 36 days until I spend a week with friends in Dallas, TX and 95 days until I meet a bunch of people I look up to in the health and fitness community at a blogging conference in Baltimore, MD. It’s not just about the weight though, I can deal with my weight in these situations. My biggest concern is my weight related sleep apnea and snoring, and sharing hotel rooms with other people. I don’t want to be a bother. I don’t want to be ridiculed. I don’t want to keep other people up with my noise. I’ve been chastised and made fun of before for it and in the past I have tried to avoid any and all situations where I would be sleeping in the same room with anyone else. It is a constant worry, and I had months to make the necessary changes and I’ve basically done a lot of little things a little bit better than I was doing them before, and I’ve gotten little progress from it.
I tried to tell myself that this time was different. This time I was doing it for my health and those dates were just markers on a longer journey. Lies. Those dates meant exactly the same thing to me this year as they have in the past. They meant do or die. They meant success or failure. They meant I win at life, or I suck at life in general. They meant everything. I’ve been sitting with this epiphany for about a week now, unsure of what to do next, but I’ve recently made a decision.
I’ve decided to give up.
I give up my deadlines. I give up my “vacation” goals. I give up the thinking that some date on a calendar is going to turn me into a weight loss machine. I give up half-assing my health and fitness. I give up putting all my eggs in someone else’s diet plan or workout regiment basket when I already know what works for me. I give up making goals for any other reason than to track my progress. I give up my excuses that I don’t have the time, energy, willpower, knowledge, or ability to get exactly what I want and become exactly who I want to be.
I give up.
I. Give. Up.