At age 22, it fit. At age 32, it fit. At age 42—you get the picture. It is the only piece of clothing I own than can make that claim. It has been with me for the long haul.
When I put it on, I don’t think about my stomach. I don’t think about whether or not my ass’s horizontal ratio is over the limit.
The suit hits right above the knee allowing my 2nd favorite feature—my lower legs—to shine. We all need to embrace what feels good on our bodies, especially if we’re dealing with an irrational fixation on the parts that don’t feel so good.
But of course, there is nothing irrational about doing what is needed to be healthy and strong. That part, I get intellectually. Just not always experientially.
I fell off the Whole Life Challenge wagon. (You can read about my good intentions here.) Saying “I fell off” is a cute little colloquialism for what I really should say which is this: I made a very conscious choice to eat Halloween candy, and then some. There was no actual falling involved.
I struggle with this stuff because I am not a moderator. I want to be. MAN, how I want to be like those people who can have a cookie or two and think, “Yummy. That was great. Now for more kale!” Okay, maybe kale isn’t part of that equation, but the ‘one or two cookie part’ absolutely is.
I go cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
I want a few things. One of them is to give my body what it actually needs. Some days, it may think it needs three glasses of delicious cheap red wine. And that would be okay if it didn’t also think it needed crackers, cheese, popcorn and maybe a few Oreos to go along with it.
The other thing I want is to make peace with my body. I am so grateful that I get to be here. I mean, seriously? I’m here and I try every day to connect to the fact that my life span has a beginning and an end and time that I spend obsessing about the fact that my body isn’t perfect is actually wasted time. To be clear, it’s not focusing on my health that’s the waste of time; it’s the obsessing part. Obsessing, to me, means very neurotic behavior. It means not putting my money where my mouth is.
Whining about it is also wasted time. Now that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good bitch session every now and then, but mostly, what I hope to get out of it is simply a “that suuuuuuuuuucks.” Because at the end of the day, it’s on me to take better care of me.
There. Bitch session over.