Between Health and Weight

my favorite shoes, brand spankin' new

Sweat beads on my forehead, the whir of the treadmill belt muffled by The Black Eyed Peas pulsing in my ears. I’m finally getting accustomed to the monotony of my indoor runs.  I use the time to get lost in my music and my thoughts; my eyes slightly glazed as they focus on the glowing yellow streetlights, halos in the sky through the condensation on the wall of windows.

My runs have been more sporadic than I’d like, mornings thwarted by sick kids interrupting sleep, coaxed back to bed with glasses of water and smoothed brows and curling up in our bed when nothing else works.

My legs tire more quickly than they should, growing heavy as my eyes are drawn again and again to the numbers on the display. Three miles feels longer than three miles. Still, running is one of my safe places, something that makes me feel strong and sure, even when I realistically look at my abilities and know I may never meet some of my secret goals.

I leave my running shoes by the back door so my kids grow up knowing that part of my life, seeing the routine modeled the same way we brush our teeth or read books before bed. I envision myself at seventy, standing around at the beginning of a race, people thinking I am there to cheer on my grandchildren until they see the numbers pinned to my chest.

But there’s another reason I run, a reason I don’t mention to Abbey when we talk about my new running shoes. A reason that’s been sitting in the forefront of my mind since the beginning of the year.

Running burns calories, and calories and I are having an intimate relationship, carefully chaperoned by my new drill sergeant, My Fitness Pal.

I’ve hired (by that I mean signed up for free) My Fitness Pal to help me track my calorie intake. 

I truly wish I could say I’m tracking those calories for my health or to set an example of healthy, clean eating for my family.

I'm not.

I cringe when I see my calorie logs some days, particularly on the days when I am under or at my calorie limit but my morning is filled with French Vanilla Creamer instead of a nutritious breakfast.

I’m embarrassed to admit this, though it may not seem like a dramatic confession.

One of the things I desperately want for Abbey is for her to grow up with a respect for good health and a safe and healthy body image, because I know how difficult it is to struggle with weight.

Punching numbers into a computer or my phone and mentally trading out meal calories for an extra cup of coffee with creamer for the sole reason of dropping a jean size isn’t the example I want to set for her.

Teetering between weight loss and a healthy example, I’m trying to find my balance.

And it’s so much more difficult than I expected it to be.

as always, thanks to Shell for inviting us to pour out our hearts