NOT Fat????!!!

I did a big push on losing weight starting in late January. Since then, I've had some bobbles up and down, but the trend has been down.  I'm not at my goal, but I've also decided not to focus on that goal for a while.  In the meantime, I am, for the first time in 15 years, at a Body Mass Index that says I am in the "normal" weight category.  This after decades of bouncing between "obese" and "overweight".  Yes, it's just a shade over the line. But over it is.

The ups and downs of my weight, since 1988. The horizontal gridlines are 10 pounds apart, and the highest to lowest weight are 50 pounds apart.

Does this mean I'm not fat?  I mean, if I'm not a fat person, then what am I?  My identity has been tied up in being a fat person my whole life. I was a fat kid. I remember looking at a camp form the summer I was 12, and to the question "Obese?" the doctor had written "borderline".  The earliest weights on this graph, in 1988, are from my Weight Watcher's book I found.  Obviously I joined because I was fat and wanted to lose weight - why else?

First world problems, folks. I'm not complaining about my weight, not by any means. In fact, while there is still plenty to criticize about my looks, in general I'm very happy with my body right now. While my top and bottom are still about size apart, buying clothes is much easier now than before. But the first time I realized the BMI number meant I was "normal", it was jarring, disorienting.  What does this mean for who I am?

I'm still five pounds above the "ideal weight" I've had in my mind since before those early Weight Watcher days, so I'm still someone who aspires to lose weight. But why? At this point, I don't believe five pounds makes an iota of difference to my health.  My legs are still fat, and I think I'll look a little better when I go down a little bit more.  But it won't be way better, because even though I'm building muscle, I'll still have sagging, older skin, no matter what I weigh. Not enough loose skin to be surgically removed, but enough to show.  So I'm doing it purely for looks, not for any other grander idea. But it won't suddenly transform me into Helen Mirren, not by a long shot.

Because it is currently fruit, sweet corn, ice cream, and beer season, I have moderated my Atkins diet significantly. My intent is to maintain for about another month, and then blitz the last five pounds.  If I can convince my body it likes this current weight, compared to the 10-pounds higher I was for the last few years, I'm pretty confident my blitz will work. To some extent, I'm doing it to see if I can. And if I can, I'd like to stay there.

This year's weight loss. The blip up in June was the San Francisco trip. On this chart, the horizontal lines are two pounds apart, so you can see I've bounced within a two pound range since July.

But why? What does it mean to be "normal"?  We all know I will never be able to just eat what I want and lie around as much as I want, so I'll always be paying attention (or else paying the price). But when maintaining I'm able to eat a much wider variety of foods and I like that. And I like buying an ice cream cone and sitting outside to eat it without thinking how everyone passing by is criticizing me in their mind, "no wonder she's fat".  I like the way I look in many of my clothes. When I walk into a room of people I don't know, I like that I no longer assume the first thing they think is "oh, she's fat".

I'm working out often and vigorously now.  I think I'm a project for my trainer - she has let me know I'm the oldest person she has trained, and she is experimenting with how hard she can push me. I am also running (thanks to a brief break in the weather) and systematically pushing to go further and faster.  I am filled with aches and pains, but I am overall healthy and quite possibly stronger than I was twenty years ago.   Forty years of hypochondria, and I always think I'm coming down with something. But the number of times I've gone to the gym because I have an appointment when I considered calling in sick is equal to the number of times I felt better afterwards, minus only one time when I really was sick.

I worry now when I walk into a room of strangers they are judging me for being old, and I'm trying to own that, not deny it.  I'm trying to rock the whole "wisdom" thing. I've been there, done that, my T-shirt wore out years ago, but let me listen to what you have to say and see if I can't coach you to be more successful than me. At the same time, I watch people more closely than I ever have, trying to figure out what I want to be like, because I'm not done changing yet.  I consciously try to walk more briskly, with a spring in my step, instead of the saunter or plod that was my more normal mode of moving through the world.  I'm listening more, and trying to talk less.  But I'm nowhere near ready to go all white in the hairs, no matter how much I try to own my age.  Every five weeks, Paul fixes me up.

I know how very fragile my new found strength and body confidence are.  All it will take is an injury, or a melt-down from a certain adolescent, or a change in my work circumstances, and I could shoot right back up to the top of the curve.  But I'm enjoying this now while I can, and trying to capture what allows me to be here.