Today, I weigh 143 pounds. (I’m not exactly sure of my height, I can never remember. Husband could tell you.) On my wedding day I weighed 127, and at some point during the dark years I weighed 132, which was the lowest I’ve been since I was married. When I’m happy, healthy, and balanced (which means, not stresed at work, angry, lonely, or depressed), I can keep my weight around 135, at which point I still have a sticky-out belly and butt, but my knees don’t rub togther when I run in shorts. To get that sexy gap between my thighs when I stand with my feet together, I’ve got to weight 132 and be semi-toned. Also at that weight, my face is slim enough so that I don’t look like Sister Moon when I’m laughing, pouting, or running.
Memo to Husband and to others out there who love me: no need to post comments saying, “you’re beautiful,” or whatever. That’s not why I’m writing this. I carry my weight well–most of my early 20’s I weighed between 140 and 150 pounds; it’s my body’s resting place. The older I get, the less I fret about the possibility of never again seeing the ass my husband photographed on our honeymoon. It means more to me that I can PR in the half, create and execute a blockbuster marketing plan, freeze up an incredible batch of Nutella ice cream, make my friends laugh and my parents beam, and take care of my husband body & soul.
And yet. As a runner, there are few things more tantalizing than the semi-scientifically-tested notion that losing weight can make you faster. That’s right, I can hold my training where it is, lose 5 pounds, and I. Will. Get. Faster. The rule of thumb floating around out there is for every pound you lose, you may average two seconds faster per mile. So, I lose ten pounds, and I cut nearly 9 minutes off my marathon time. Just by getting skinnier!
During the part of my Monday morning run that crosses the bridge over the Sunnyside Rail Yards, just before the left onto Skillman Avenue, I was bolting. My legs were slicing like scissor blades, extending my stride to the perfect length, and in a snap I believed myself lean — lithe, even. It only lasted a few blocks, because I always push my lactate threshold on that part of the run home, and my legs get heavy. But, for a few (delusional) moments, I was faster because I was thin.
That fleeting fallacy has made the siren-song of those two extra seconds impossible to resist. There’s nothing left for it, I must incorporate weight loss into my training towards my sub-two-hour half-marathon goal. I am not dieting. Repeat. This is not a diet. This is me making one more smart food choice a day, just enough so that by the time I run my sub-2 (I think it will be in August at the Queens Half), the last two numbers of my weight will be transposed.
Honestly, that elusive promise of going faster is what is keeping me motivated after a year and a half of losing weight. Technically, at the weight I am right now I am within the “normal” BMI range for my height (5’8″) as well as the Weight Watchers range. I could stop actively trying to lose and just start maintaining.
But…
…I keep thinking, “if I lose 15 more pounds…I’ll be even faster and sleeker!”
The thought of that sub-2:00 half, or besting my ancient 5K PR, and how much easier both will be if I manage to drop these last few pounds, is my motivation.
A sympathizer! We are not vain. Just ambitious!
Since I hurt my back last week, I haven’t been to the gym or run a single step. Saturday-Tuesday was 4 days of eating out and drinking semi-heavily. So I go to the gym yesterday and I weigh myself, fully expecting to see 174 lbs (the same # I have seen for the last 8 months despite hardcore marathon training).
Lo and behold, I lost 8 pounds. In 1 week. My new diet consists of beer, saki, tequila shots, wine and vodka tonics. Who knows, if I keep eating pizza and mac/cheese, I could qualify for Boston!
I cry foul. No fair!
Well, actually, the last time I was skinny-skinny, I was running 6 days a week (just 2 miles each time, but ran fast), eating breakfast & lunch normally but then dinner was basically some sort of cocktail & bar nuts. I called it the Sex & the City Diet.
I simply have to post a comment because I give you “mad props” for simply posting your weight on a public website.
This is not because I think it is in any way a grotesque number (not in the least) but simply because I keep my weight undisclosed to parents, best friend of 12 years and BF. It is an obscure number to everyone I know and I would rather share other numbers which have less relevance to me:
MY ATM PIN NUMBER (you can have it- not telling you my weight)
MY CHECKING ACCOUNT BALANCE
MY SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER
MY SALARY
So– go you!
🙂
“and take care of husband body and soul”
Where’s the damn TOILET PAPER?!?!?!
I imagine that qualifies for body and maybe even soul!
rD
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