It started in August 2008. I had been working at a Curves for a year and I had gotten in the best shape I have been in since High School. I had found a workout that was do-able and that I could continue to intensify and feel good about in just 30 minutes. For those who are not familiar, Curves is designed for women and is a circuit training program. It is effective because it is both strength training and cardio. And it works.
Well, it works if you actually get on the machines and put the effort into it. You would think that a person who has to show up to work every day at the place would be able to get that done, wouldn't you. Well, I would think that too. Especially after getting great results and feeling so darned good about myself.
I can actually pinpoint the moment I lost my oomph and it happened between my ears and set in motion a series of emotional reactions that has brought me to the point of teetering on the edge of giving up or getting back on track.
Aproximately every 2 or 3 months we get in a clothing line called Curvaceous. Clothing that is usually good to work out in and has the Curves brand stitched into it somewhere. Since I wear the stuff daily to work, I generally order something out of every batch that we get. Somewhere around August of '08 I ordered the size I had been so proudly wearing for the last 6 months. The thing is that when it came in, it fit a little tighter than what I had gotten in previous months.
Now, the scales had not changed and all those clothes that fit well before fit just the same as they had before my new tighties came in, so I knew in the front part of my head that somehow the manufacturer had just figured out a way to use less fabric and get a bit more profit from me.
Unfortunately, my belief systems are not housed in the front part of my head. They lie dormant waiting for an opportunity to attack my self esteem and drag me back into my old thinking patterns. It is part of my addictive brain. that part of me that looks for the chance to self destruct.
Of course, it started pointing and screaming "fat--fat--fat".
This would all be moot if I had the capacity to simply tell the screaming brat to shut the ---- up. Unfortunately, I usually simply try to deny that the voice exists rather than turning and doing battle with it right then and there.
Denial is a tricky thing. It refuses to acknowledge there is a problem brewing and instead of getting out a mop and broom and cleaning up a mess entirely while it is a small thing, it simply lays a rug over it and leaves it lay until it really starts to stink.
Speaking of things that can begin to stink, I am now off to do the laundry. I should be able to find some useful analogy in that process, no?
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My mom joined a Curves a while back. She really liked it. She talked me into joining too, but I did not really have the time to do it. I told her so before I joined, but she would not listen to me. I think I went three or four times.
And all that time I was paying for the membership. I liked the place, but I was going to school full time back then. Now I have the time, but I can't afford to join again. Life is so ironic.
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