Greetings children. Apologies for the absence and inconsistent blogging lately - my Mom has graced our shores to talk of my flat ass, I've been running a lot, I work full-time, and they tell me I have a small child reliant on my mothering. Who knew?
I was excited about my Mom's arrival, believing that though we only saw each other at Christmas, she would be impressed by my weight loss since then. Or, perhaps not. Instead, all I got was the general comment referring to my overall weight loss, "You look nice. Do you feel as if your clothes are any looser?" Que? Well, when one loses 15 pounds or so, it's usually a bit more than slightly ill-fitting clothing. In three seconds I went from being proud of myself to wondering if I have imagined the extent of my weight loss.
Mothers always have that supreme ability to say deflating things, intentional or otherwise. My Mom is of the otherwise variety, but it still hurts. So far, The Dude and one friend are the only ones to say anything about it all, which again, leads me to believe that this profound weight loss thought that is dancing about my head is due to my clearly potent anti-depressants rather than anything based in reality.
I know, I know, I should shut the fuck up already about my body issues, but people - I have worked HARD in the past nine months to get where I am. I run 20-25k/week, I lift weights, survive on healthy foods and little junk; if I don't look significantly better, what's the point? Yeah, I feel better, and it's great to know that 2.5 miles is a casual, easy run that I do when I don't have much time. Me of a year ago would have sputtered and coughed at the very notion of running for 2.5 minutes. Still, I want to look better too. A lot better.
Those privy to my Twitter outbursts of morosity the other day will know how much my Mom's lack of reaction bothered me. As punishment I only had one cup of coffee (my main source of sugar)instead of the usual two or three, and did sprints/3 miles one night, and 2.5 miles the next night. I am glad my Mom isn't around all the time to not notice weight loss, or else I would be out every night pushing myself until I passed out in the bushes.
I have no idea where all this body-based neediness comes from. I wasn't neglected as a child or deprived of compliments, so I have no excuse. I think a lot of it results from me hating (not an exaggeration) my body for the past 12+ years without trying to change it, and now that I have, any encouragement has to come from my own drive or The Dude's obligatory support. Don't get me started on my Mom's throwaway statement from her last trip, "You can borrow some of my trousers if you want" and how that doozy nearly pushed me toward wearing a vinyl weight loss suit in the Sahara whilst subsisting on lettuce leaves and grub blood. Oy.
Let me gather myself again and try to limit the drama. Ahem. If you see me on the street, just make sure to tell me how fine I'm looking lately. You'll make a girl's day.