Tuesday, May 29, 2007

I Am Not Losing Weight, And I Don't Care

Or, In Which I Promise To Myself to Stop Talking About Losing Weight, The End, I Mean It This Time.

See, about two years ago, I started trying to lose weight, and you know? I kind of liked it, and I kind of succeeded at it. More than succeeded; I excelled. I lost twenty pounds in about...what...six months? About. I had fit into a size twelve, at my heaviest, and all of a sudden, I owned two things with size six labels. I fit into a pair of pants I hadn't worn since high school. And a bunch of things with size eights. I had some sexy-butt pants, and I fit into them, and you know? It was nice. Although I knew I was a long way from looking like a long-limbed Guess model, I looked at some pictures from then and I thought, you know? That's pretty skinny. I like that.

And so this time two years later, I started trying to lose weight, and I didn't really get anywhere, and I thought--what the hell? I looked at myself in the mirror, I looked at the scale. The scale said I was five, sometimes ten, pounds heavier than I had been. The mirror said I looked okay, and I was still fitting into my sexy butt pants--and even the high school pants, some days. So I weigh a little more, and I could stand to be a little skinnier, but you know? I still think I look pretty good. I'm petite, small boned--the LT can span my entire lower back with one hand--and all that mac and cheeze shows a little, just because I'm small, so that's no good, but I'm still pretty active, and therefore I can convince myself that the extra pounds are muscle, not fat, and that works for me.

Because last time I lost weight, I realized I was hitting the gym regularly--very regularly--which I loved, and counting calories obsessively, which I didn't love. And this time I canceled my brand-new gym membership, because I wasn't using it, and I'm not counting calories because I can't stand it. I feel dumber every time. And I hate feeling dumber.

And you know? Instead of gong to the gym, not that that's not valuable, or counting calories, which is barely valuable even at the best of times, I've been doing some pretty cool stuff.

Skiing and drinking on Cinco de Mayo

Helter and I climbing a rock, in the Wedge Mountains outside Leavenworth.

Me concentrating. (Off road-ing is hard!)

A very messy braid, and looking over the Wedges, at the snow level in late May.

Dave Fry and I taking a break on the frame.

Self-timed photo of the LT and I (in his full LT stripes!) in our hotel room, pre-Submarine Ball.

Official Picture.

After the ball, with my hair coming down.

See? And would I have time to do all that if I was obsessively counting calories and hitting the gym instead of, say, climbing great big rocks outside?

No.

Even Titan's ear thinks counting calories is ridiculous.

6 comments:

Quatoes said...

Gorgeous! Yeah, my method of trying to get in shape, is to pedal on a bike while mindlessly surfing the internet. If I'm gonna slack off anyway, might as well excercise while I'm doing so.

Shananigans said...

Word.

BTW, have you considered that if your body was any smaller your boobs might tip it over? Just sayin’.

alex said...

Regarding the previous comment:
I knew that if I waited a bit, someone would say it more eloquently than I could.

Quatoes said...

That and we're male...we'd get killed saying something like that.

Aarwenn said...

HA! Shan, you kill me!

Ah, boys.

Tamara said...

You look great, but even more importantly, you sound happy.

:-)