A revelation, maybe?

Calories consumed: 1578

Calories burned: 2073

Calorie deficit: 495

Yesterday turned out to be a good day. I ate well. I was able to do some exercising, however, not as much as I would have liked to do. I didn't work out in the morning, so I tried to fit in a 45 minute cardio routine after dinner. About 20 minutes into it, I realized that it wasn't working. I was coughing the entire time and couldn't stop. So I fast forwarded to the less strenuous cardio part of the routine, and I was able to finish. In the end, I probably only did 25 to 30 minutes instead of the intended 45 minutes. But I was ok with that. It was better than nothing.

But on the way home from work yesterday, after having read my latest post about my measurements, my husband said he was mad at me. I asked why, and he said, "Only you could see the negative in having lost 2-1/4 inches!" And he got me thinking. And he's right. On one hand, I was grateful that I lost something, but on the other hand, I was sad that it wasn't more. This feeling, in the end, made me not nearly as elated about losing inches as you would think it should have made me feel. Why is that?

When we were on vacation recently with some of our best friends, they were trying to help me get to the bottom of my obsession with exercising and weight loss, because in their eyes, and in my husband's eyes (and probably most people's eyes, if I were to ask), there is nothing wrong with me the way I am. I'm not overweight. I'm not fat. I'm fit and healthy. Why can't I be happy with that, accept and love myself for who/what I am, and just relax about all of this stuff?

I don't know the answers to these questions. I wish I did. Maybe if I knew, I wouldn't have this problem. All I know is that I remember feeling this way most of my life. I remember the day I realized that my butt was much wider than I ever knew it was... I had always looked at myself in the mirror sideways, never from the back. And then one day, I got out a mirror and observed, and I was shocked at how wide my bottom half was. It never looked that way from the side. How did that happen? When did that happen? I think that was the moment that started it all.

Then there is my mom. I love my mom to death. Although we argue and bicker at times, I appreciate and respect her to the utmost. She's the most kind and sweet mom you'll ever meet. I am her only daughter among her five children, and I have a figure very similar to my mom's (defined waist, large hips and thighs). All my life, she has subjected me to comments like, "When I was your age, I was X pounds; let's compare your size to what my size was back then." Or maybe comments like, "Well, you just wait until you get older! Your legs will look like this, too!" And it's funny, because when your mom tells you something, you believe it. I mean, it's your mom. Would she lie? Would she steer you wrong? Never! So I think years of these comparisons has led me to the conclusion that if I don't do something about it, I'm going to have her exact shape as I age. And I love my mom, but I don't want that for myself. I want to look just like I do now when I'm 50 or 60 or 70. I don't want to let age get in the way of me staying healthy, trim, and fit. So I feel like I'm always fighting this battle, and struggling very hard, so that as I age, I don't fall into the body that my mom fell into.

I think the question I need to ask myself is, so what if I did? Why do I care so much? Everyone I love would still love me, no matter what my size. So why does it matter? I wish I knew.