The OTHER resolution that I made on my birthday last year was to continue my fitness journey. Specifically, I want to roll out of bed on my 35th birthday with a body that looks just as good as (if not better than) the one that I saw in the mirror on my 34th birthday, after a workout.
That workout pump is real. And it looks good on me. Or, at least it does in my mind… Actually, I can’t say that. Lately I’ve been getting a lot of random compliments on my physique. It’s kind of off putting to be honest. I’m not really used to this sort of attention.
Now the screenshot that I attached, that’s the sort of attention I’m used to getting. My mom’s side of the family is rather large, or at least they were when I was growing up. And by large I mean overweight. Happily overweight. Happily overweight, and eager to put down anyone who wasn’t. So, every get together, I heard about how skinny I was.
I would hear about my weight, and then an obese relative would walk in the door and get praised for how good they look. Not an exaggeration. So, as odd as it is to say (and likely hear/read), I’ve always had an unhealthy relationship with my body. My body image wasn’t the worst, but it was never ‘good’. Well, that is until I caught a glimpse of myself in that mirror on my birthday.
I’ve had moments where I thought I looked good before. But this different. I didn’t just look good, I looked like the person I would point to if someone were to ask me to describe my goal weight.
I decided that I was going to go after it. I mean, I was pretty active, and ate pretty healthy, but I didn’t have a clear direction or focus really. So, 6-ish months into my journey, when I look in the mirror pre-workout and I’m happy with the progress I see, I was NOT expecting this response to a picture of mine. I felt so… Small.
Small, like before. Like the past couple of months meant nothing. Like the 20something pounds of muscle that I had put on still wasn’t good enough. Like the 5-6 days a week spent in the gym did nothing to changed the way that the world viewed me. Or more accurately, the way that I imaged the world had viewed me.
I laughed it off. But it hurt. In a way that (I assume) was nowhere near intended, but still. This was right around the time that I started getting compliments, in person. This one negative voice, out of the growing number of positive ones, rang the loudest. It drowned out the others.
Apparently (as I would later find out), she prefers dad-bods. Which, is whatever. People like what they like. But that shouldn’t mean that I should feel small for not falling in line with that. Just… Go find your dad-bod. Ok. I’m rambling. Let me stop.
Until next time, pick things up and put them down.