Overshare Much?

It's no secret that I'm trying to get back into shape, and Gosh-darn-it, it's going to happen or I'll die trying.

In my continuing denial in just how much weight I've gained, I've attempted to start running again.

Let me fill you in, back when I was "thin", I was running every day, even with a sprained ankle, for 3 + miles. I divided my time between the treadmill and outside, and had a constant blister on either one of my feet. In March 2007 things reached a boiling point. In all honesty, I was binging and purging almost every day, and was running despite the fact that my right ankle was extremely swollen. I was desperate to maintain my new figure, even though I still thought I was fat.

I called my sister one night and tearfully confided. I went to the doctor the next day at her urging, I didn't have time to think about it. My doctor's message was clear - you're getting help, and you are telling you family, or I'm going to tell them. She painted a grim picture of what my future would look like if I continued down this path - rotting nails, rotting teeth, heart attack, esophageal cancer. I wanted to run away, but it was too late. Pandora's Box was opened when I uttered the words - I think I have a problem.

I started seeing a therapist, at first twice a week. I told her my routine, and to this day I can't forget the look on her face. I told her about the running, and the race I had entered despite my sprained ankle. I told her about the strictly regimented meals. All of it was normal for me. She asked me what I did for myself, and what would happen if I had a scone, and just digested it. I told her that I didn't know. I couldn't answer either question - being nice to myself? eating something "bad"? My idea of a splurge was a Tootsie Roll Pop, or an extra piece of diet bread with butter spray. A "cheat" day was unheard of to me. I made excuses not to see friends - and to little surprise they slipped away. I was most comfortable with my food scale, treadmill and computer. Joy told me that she thought I was angry. I didn't know what to say.

It's been two years since that first session, and I hope a lot has changed. I've gained all of the weight back, true. The treadmill and I took an extended break, while scones and I have had a frenaissance. I've also started opening up - telling someone when I'm mad or hurt. I started venturing out of the house for reasons other than work and shopping - I reconnected with old friends. I admitted to Joy that I was angry with trying to maintain a facade of perfection.

I'm back on the weight loss wagon again, and I'm trying to keep the old demons at bay. About a week ago I tried to start running again, and when I did I pushed it too far. I sheepishly admitted this to my therapist - running to the point of sickness more than once - she wasn't thrilled. I'm taking it slow now, and I was surprised tonight when I found myself running for 10 minutes and not feeling sick. I almost enjoyed it - and I stopped before it got to be painful. I'm enjoying a day off once a week from watching every morsel that crosses my lips. I'm making time to meet up with friends.

I'm not going to lie, it's difficult for me. A part of me wants to go full throttle even though I know it will hurt me. I'm also asking for help, something that's not in my nature. I'm so grateful for the support that I've found now that I've opened myself up.

I hope I can continue and find that happy medium. Maybe I don't need to be a size 6. Perhaps a 10 is perfectly OK. Maybe being me is perfectly OK.

I certainly hope so.