Rumproast and Jelly Belly
Sep 12, 2020
I’ve been struggling with my body image lately.
I understand the power of positive thinking and a powerful mindset. Yet, I can’t shake the negative thoughts about the way my body looks right now.
Still, I understand how strong my body is. I’ve run 10 marathons. I’ve finished a half-Ironman. I work out regularly, eat (mostly) well, generally get 8 hours of sleep each night, and drink a gallon of water almost every day. I look fine in my clothes, and my jeans still fit.
But I find myself slipping up a lot lately. I look in the mirror and only see the imperfections. The extra layer of flab on my thighs. The extra chunk in my belly. The dimples on the back of my arms.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been focusing a lot on the imperfections lately.
I’ve never been thin. I’ve always had a more athletic build, and I tend to carry weight in my thighs and my ass.
And that’s nothing new: the boys in 6th grade nicknamed me “Rumproast” long before baby got back or Jenny from the block was revered for throwing around that junk in her trunk. Maybe the boys meant it as a compliment, but I was significantly more embarrassed about the nickname than excited about it.
What is new, though, is that I’m in a rut. I can’t seem to lose the 6 or 7 pounds I’ve gained since March. While my clothes still fit fine, I don’t like what I see in the mirror when I’m getting in the shower. Even worse: what I looked like in a swimsuit in front of my friends last weekend.
Intuitively, I know it’s a combination of age and hormones and the COVID world. I’m eating more comfort food than ever. I’m lifting fewer weights. I’m working out less. Naturally, then, I’d be plumping up a bit.
Intuitively, I know the math is all about calories in and calories burned. But the hard truth is I can no longer out-train a bad diet. And what’s more: I don’t eat that poorly. I don’t drink soda. I don’t even drink that much alcohol.
I find myself back where I don’t like to be. In sort of a desperation to trim up. So, I’ll go big for a while. Track the calories. Hire the personal trainer. Sign up for a race. Hit it hard for a while, but then regress. And it’s with the regression come the lowest lows.
Believe me: I'm a huge advocate of positive self-talk. I understand its power.
A guy I went to middle school with is a mental coach for elite athletes. Like, top of their game, Superbowl-winning quarterbacks. He says that negative thoughts about yourself are more damaging than you can imagine. And negative self-talk? Actually saying the words you’re thinking about yourself out loud to yourself? Well, that’s not just worse, but exponentially worse.
I’m not sharing this because I’m fishing for compliments. Or seeking approval from anyone.
I’m sharing because I think some of you can relate, and you need to hear this.
I’m sharing because even when we know how to treat ourselves the right way, many of us don’t. We give grace freely to others. We look past their imperfections. We see the good.
But we don’t do that with ourselves. Many times, we’re our own toughest critics.
If someone talked to you the way you talk to yourself, would you be friends with that person? Probably not.
I’m sharing because I’ve spent years working on my mindset. I even coach career women on their mindset.
But I’m also human. And sometimes I slip up.
And sometimes, you will, too. When that happens, be kind to yourself. Forgive yourself. Then, redirect your thoughts. Learn to appreciate the goodness of your body. Understand how strong and beautiful it is…even with the imperfections. Or especially with the imperfections.
Learn to show up as your own biggest cheerleader.
When you catch yourself struggling with the jiggle of your thighs, remind yourself how many miles they’ve carried you.
When you find yourself frustrated with the inability to lose the fat around your middle, remind yourself about your strong core. Maybe even that you grew a whole human in there. Or several little babies over the years.
When you’re fixating on your chicken arms or your flabby triceps, remind yourself how those arms have comforted others during their suffering.
You are a beautiful, perfectly imperfect person. Love yourself. Love your body. Even when it’s not in tip-top shape. Especially when it’s not in tip-top shape.
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