The Goddess Weighs In

Living Large and Healthy

I Feel Good Da Na Na Na Na Na Na

on June 10, 2012

Well my alternate title was “My Lower Back is One Mean Mofo”, but I thought this would keep some of my audience from clutching their pearls. Since January my trips to the Y have been less and less frequent, and while I made the effort to swim now and then and took a few laps around the block and even made it to a roller skating lesson a couple of weeks ago, I have been remiss in my exercise. I was feeling pretty good, eating pretty well, but I knew better. I knew that if I didn’t get into the pool at least once a week that my lower back would once again rule me. Waking up this last week was a nightmare. I had to roll myself to the side of the bed, slide down onto my knees and then push myself up all the while suffering intense pain and a general lack of mobility which made the simplest of tasks, like putting on one’s underroos, nearly impossible. The Y is not that close to my house and I had a million other excuses for not going on any given day, but I was very much aware of the consequences and I still stayed away. For a while I scheduled my Sunday YMCA trip into my day planner and would refuse to make plans with people if the plans impinged on that day and then I started to let that slide.

Today I went back to the Y and I feel great. And I was pretty sure that getting in the water and doing a couple of aquafit classes would help immensely and yet it took a week of absolute suffering and several weeks of morning stiffness and discomfort to get my bum to the gym. I’m not a stupid person most of the time, but I’m confused by my idiotic behaviour. Better still this is not the first time I’ve let this happen in the last couple of years. And I know I’m not alone in this.

We know certain foods and behaviours are not good for us and yet we do it anyway.  Eating and drinking are sensory delights, often associated with social behaviour so that I understand, but ignoring something that will make quality of life immensely better is baffling to me and I’m one of the worst culprits.  I googled “why do we hurt ourselves” and came up with this:, but while interesting I’m not sure I fit any of the categories although it has occurred to me that I may have a fear of success.

My weight is part of my identity, when asked I describe myself as “fat and funny”.  My weight is often a hindrance, but it also protects me.  Although most people would not guess that I am shy, I am horribly so and have spent many a party in the corner staring at my shoes until someone rescues me or until I feel I have stayed long enough to appear social and then I make a quick exit.  Being Queen-sized means that I don’t have to endure certain social settings that make me uncomfortable like night clubs and bars where one’s appearance may be judged harshly.  I may get invited, but people typically understand when I beg off by saying that I’m not one of the pretty people. . . .and as I write these words I realize I am talking about “self-handicapping”, number one of the list.  Huh.  Sadly it makes complete sense.  I remember talking to a friend once, back in the days when I thought that I wouldn’t find a romantic partner unless I was a skinny-minnie and I actually worried that the problem might not be my weight.  I wondered if it was possible that I could lose all the weight and then find out that my personality was the problem all along and wouldn’t that be a kick in the teeth.

All right, so I apparently need to stop self-handicapping, and get my butt to the gym.  How one goes about that is unclear, but I’m guessing that putting my gym “dates” back into my day planner in permanent marker is a good start.

– the Goddess



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