Crazy. True story. I really believe that if you take the time to really evaluate where your mind goes when you're, say, standing in a crowded room thinking, take notice of how you size people up. Try it - I think you'll find out a lot about yourself. Roommate always wonders if she's the smartest person in the room (usually yes) while Manfriend dislikes anyone taller than he is. I've had friends who fixate on clothing (i.e. writing off people in asymmetrical tops or sunglasses indoors) or drink choices. I even have a friend who will wait to see how long a girl takes in the bathroom before approaching her in a bar. Who knows what you notice about other people (and ultimately how you judge them) but mine has been (thus the purpose of today's post) literally sizing women up by size for as long as I can remember.
Who knows where this started, but I know that for at least 10 years I've been comparing my size to the other random women around me at any given moment. College was my only real respite because as a rower (and at 5'7" a short rower) I knew that mass moved mass. I knew I lacked height, so had to make up for that with muscle. Therefore sure, I was physically more intimidating than my friends on the men's tennis team, but I knew that my size held a purpose. I rowed boats, and I was constantly working to row them faster. There was nothing more gratifying than hearing the thud from my dropped power clean bar resonate around the weight room. While there were certainly times when I wasn't happy with my steadily increasing weight, I took solace in being able to bench more than many of the guys I dated. Being buff was awesome.
But then, like all college athletes, senior year passed and I was left with a body that no longer served a purpose and released back into a population that didn't necessarily understand competitive athletics. My Vegas Roommate remembers only two things about me from our first meeting in the Teach For America intro session: I was wearing a Ralph Lauren halter top she liked, and I had the largest shoulders in the room - including all of the men. (In hindsight, maybe a halter was a poor choice.) But without the lifting and constant eating, the muscles and my weight started to slowly deflate.
Fast forward to now - I'm 28 and as my Hip Colleague has pointed out, something strange happens at 28. When she told me this, I assumed as I usually do, that I would be immune to aging and any of its adverse affects. However, she's totally right. Suddently weight management isn't as simple as being sure that I don't over-eat. Also, the combination of both getting married and being in love with clothing (read: a touch vain) has sent me in search of a real diet plan. A friend suggested The Flat Belly Diet, so over the next month I'll be documenting any changes and the journey itself as I attempt to become a lither version of myself.
In the interest of honest documentation, I started their 4-day Anti-Bloat plan yesterday and began with measurements of:
Weight: 148 lbs
Waist: 31 inches
Thighs: 21 inches
Let's see if if nothing else, this helps cure a little bit of my crazy...
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