I worked out that morning. For a very long time.
It was a good workout.
I felt amazing after it.
My muscles burned, I worked up a good sweat and I felt my heart rate rise throughout that hour and a half.
I was getting dressed and there was a mirror on the wall directly behind me.
I turned my back so I couldn’t see my reflection.
But that wasn’t enough.
I closed my eyes so I wasn’t tempted to look.
Even though I had worked out that day, I was just getting back on track.
I had fallen off track the last 7 weeks.
Between vacation, Thanksgiving, Chanukah, and Christmas I was just too tempted.
With an adjustment in our daily routine, I just wasn’t making the time for it that I could have. And should have.
I had only had a gain of 2 pounds in those 7 weeks, which is impressive based on the habits I so quickly formed.
In my heart I know that it isn’t a lot, but my head is telling me differently.
My head is screaming that I threw everything away.
Gained all 68 pounds back.
That I look repulsive and shouldn’t bother seeing my reflection.
I see folds where there aren’t any. Dimples where, in reality, it is actually smooth. Jiggles where the muscles are actually strong and tight.
I close my eyelids just a bit tighter, fearing that they may slip open and I would catch a passing glance of myself in the mirror.
I hurriedly finish dressing, throwing on a forgiving shirt and pants with an elastic waistband. There is no need to emphasize where my body needs work.
I take a deep breath, inhaling slowly and holding it there for a few seconds. As I exhale I slowly open my eyes.
What am I doing? What is wrong with me? What am I teaching my children?
Why am I treating myself this way?
I looked at my reflection and stared long and hard into the woman looking back at me.
This is it. I’m doing this. I’m back on track.
But this time, it’s not about looking good.
This is about feeling good.
I want to feel healthy. Feel alive. Feel confident.
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin.
I’m doing this.
And I am so going to kick ass.