Thanks Miz for sharing the purple spotlight today. It’s my color, it brings out the green in my eyes.
I’m Rita. I parent a delightful young lady. I am in mad crazy love with a police officer who saves the world from evil every day. I am in college to get my degree and become a personal trainer so I can help people save themselves. The best way I know to support people is to let them be their best selves. That’s what Fitblogger aims to do: support bloggers to get their message heard in a variety of ways. Come on over when you have a minute, we’re all very friendly over there.
Go Your Own Way
I can’t tell you how many times I tried to get skinny. I’m not shy about it, I’m just not able to count to that high anymore, I get bored. But it’s high. Really high.
All my efforts had a few things in common: it was the flavour of the month.
I would always look around to see what everyone else was doing. Or saying. Or recommending.
If I didn’t wake up at the crack of dawn and exercise with eye crust still firmly implanted, I must be a failure. All the experts said it was the best time of day.
I tried to find workout buddies that would wake up at the crack of dawn and not mind my dismal appearance because everyone said a workout buddy was the way to go.
I wouldn’t eat before a workout because somewhere I read that on an empty stomach you burn more fat.
My brain was this swirling mess of rules and regulations. If I didn’t do all of them, simultaneously, even though certain rules were contradictory, there must be something wrong with ME.
I continued to fail, time and time again.
When it came to food, I was the same. If my friends were low-fatting, so was I. They were losing so that must be the answer.
Experts would say don’t eat after 8pm, and even though I liked to stay up until 1am, I would abide and starve.
Articles would tell me that carbs were bad, the devil and all who eat them will be fat forever. I really liked bread, but I gave it up because someone, somewhere wrote this stuff and must know more than me. After all, I’ve been heavy for 20 years. I’m obviously doing something wrong.
So here I was, this grossly out of shape, endlessly unhealthy person, sprinting towards every degenerative disease in the known universe and every rule I’ve been told, every piece of advice that is supposed to work, hasn’t.
I started to realize there WAS definitely something wrong with me. And that something was the fact that I was listening to everyone else.
The day I realized that common wisdom had failed me and not the other way around, was the day I took control of my health, for good.
I hate mornings. I don’t concentrate, channel Bob Harper, lift, squat or think before 7am. That’s just me. I embraced my body’s natural rhythm and started exercising in the mid morning, mid afternoon, or heaven forbid, the evening. I realized that doing it at all is more important that the time of day in which you do it. Failing to do any exercise because I wasn’t doing it at the “right” time was the mistake. Not my hour of choice.
I don’t like exercising with others. Group classes make me want to gag, really. I can’t stand the shared bonding experience of slipping in someone else’s sweat. If I want to bond with people, how about coffee? a chat at the park, on the phone? Please help me if I have to try and maintain eye contact with you while we’re chatting and changing. No thank you. Give me a long stretch of dirt road, not a soul in the world and nothing but me and my thoughts; I’m so there.
Before my workouts I like to eat. It helps me to not want to throw up in the middle of it. This little tidbit has helped me maintain a pretty impressive completion percentage on my workouts. Rita 1000, throw up, zero.
As for food, I am fond of fat. Not on my behind but in my food. It helps me not creak when I walk and gives me that shiny coat. It keeps me full, it brings me joy, it makes food taste better. I just choose the “good” ones.
Remember bread? Remember when we could eat it and treasure it and roll around in the sweet goodness of it? Yup, I still do. Bread and toast specifically, are something I literally eat, every day. Granted it’s whole grain, flourless, sprouted grain bread that is so dense my husband has used it to level out a wobbly table leg (or two). But it IS bread. The biggest member of the carb family and not a carnal sin.
I’m almost entirely made of carbs now and went from thinking they were like eating instant cellulite to having at least 65% of my food from that part of the food chain. This too brings me joy and makes me happy. Isn’t that the whole point? I just don’t want to live in a world without starch. So I don’t.
The difference, the game changer this time round? This last time? The time when I actually lost the 90lbs that had followed me around for 20 years: I did it my way.
The way that worked and works for me to this day. Not the way that works for you or my friend or my friends sister who heard about this thing from a girl at the gym. A way that respects my preferences, my biorhythms, my daily schedule, my individuality and ultimately, my health.