Sticks and Stones

The other day my husband told me that on one of his visits to the park with the little ones (without me) a little boy, who my husband said must’ve been 5 or so, and with whom my 3.5 year old wanted to play with looked at him and said, “I don’t want to play with you, you’re fat!”

When my husband told me that my stomach got a sick feeling.  My heart filled with rage and I asked him, “Did you tell the little shit he was ugly?  Did you tell his parents that their piece of shit kid just insulted our child?  What did you do?!?!” Yup..rage.

My Midwestern husband, with his laid back personality looked at me in silence. “Well?  What did you say?”  ”Nothing. (3.5 yr old) didn’t even understand what he said to him and we just went to play some where else.”

I was furious.  And I will admit, even as I write this I am furious…and sad.  My son IS NOT FAT. He is larger, taller, stronger than the average 3.5 year old.  He also more articulate, super funny, witty, and sweeter than the average 3.5 year old.  

My dad likes to tell the story about how when I was 4 or 5 he took me to the doctor and the doctor told him I was fat and that I needed to be put on a diet.  I have heard that story so many times in my life, embellished each time he tells it, and he loves to tell it in front of me, to remind me that I was always fat, always ugly.

So, when it comes to my child, who again IS NOT FAT, and hearing other nasty, rude, ill-mannered bullies put my kid down, it makes me angry, but sad that I won’t always be there to defend them, protect them, block them from the nastiness that will chip away at that innocence I adore so much.  My 3.5 year old believes he is beautiful.  So much so that he’ll say things like, “Mama, I heart my beautiful finger” or “Mama, can you brush my beautiful hair?” or “Mama, I brushed my beautiful teeth!”.  This is because I have convinced him that he and his brothers are beautiful.  Not just on the outside, but on the inside.  I make sure to point out when they do something insensitive or mean and talk extensively to them about how words are hurtful and can be negative or positive, depending on how they use them.

I wish that I could teach them to not be hurt by the words of others, I wish I could fill them up with all the self confidence and self love in the world so that they are never put down by someone else’s ignorance and intolerance. But I am not sure if I can, I am not sure if what I have to teach them and give them will be enough.

Here’s The Skinny: I don’t know what I would’ve done had I been in my husband’s place that day.  I say that I would have broken the child’s spirit, made him cry. I say that I would’ve gone straight to his parents and told them what a horrid monster their child is and that I’m sure it has everything to do with them…I say that as I pace angrily in my living room hurt that someone tried to hurt my boy’s feelings, but I don’t know.  I would’ve said something, maybe just not so harsh…because in the end I know that sticks and stones hurt…but mean words leave scars that can last forever.

Me, My Scale, and I

I hate the scale.  Hate it.  I think that scales often do more damage than good to the self-esteem of a person trying to loose weight.  And yeah, it’s an amazing feeling when you step onto one and it shows you a number that (society) you think is good.  But, I have found in my life time how, for me anyway, it’s been so counter productive…and misleading.

For example…I can go to any dieting site and give them my height (5’6) and tell them my weight and it will tell me I am obese. Yes, ladies and gents…OBESE.  Because a scale for a person of my height should read no more than, get this, 130-140 Max. Here’s the thing…I haven’t weighed 130 since I was teenager and as a teenager I was very thin, skin and bones.  With many bones sticking out of my chest, my hips, and at one point, my face.  But anywhere I went I was told I was overweight.

Me, at 17 and 127-130lbs. Also, the only reason I am posing this way was because my mother, who I know wouldn't judge me, took this picture. I was never as confident as I look in this picture at that age. I thought I was so FAT because that's what my dad always told me.

So today, I finally weighed myself.  It’s been exactly 3 weeks since I started this venture and I knew that as much as I hated it, I also wanted to let you all know, what, if anything, had changed.  When I started I was 233lbs..looks like such a huge number…but I think I “wear” those pounds better than some…today the scale told me I weighed 228.  So, I have lost 5lbs. 5lbs in 3 weeks.  Not bad…especially with my having slacked off a couple of times here and there (I don’t recommend this too often especially in such a short span).

Now, for me, I can say I am happy that all my hard work is paying off.  My jeans are feeling a little looser…but the biggest change is my energy and my running has improved.  I don’t look very different, except that my skin is softer and glows more.  Granted, I am not running any marathons any time soon, probably never…and chances are that the time for the 4 mile run this coming Sunday at Central Park will take me more than an hour…but at least I am doing it, having fun, and feeling great about it.

So here’s the skinny: don’t let the scale control you.  Use it to measure how well you’ve done (or how much more you need to do), but don’t let it take away from the sense of accomplishment and pride in the hard work you are putting in towards your journey towards health.  Take it from a labeled “obese” woman, who isn’t that at all, the scale is not the final say in your progress and success.

Negativity

I was angry.  I had been angry since the night before.  The incident had even made me cry, which upset my kids, which made me more angry.  And then after the anger, I was just exhausted.  So much so that when I woke up I thought about skipping my workout. “Just this once.  I’ve had such a hard night.” I thought to myself.  Almost immediately I knew that if I didn’t go for my run/walk and let this morning slide, that I would find it difficult to get going next time…and next thing you know it would turn into another 6-7 months of nothing.

So I got up and headed out.  As I made my walk the thoughts of what had made me angry kept playing themselves over and over in my mind.  By the time I became aware of my surroundings I was sweating and almost in front of the park.  My newspaper friend greeted me, smiling.  This made me smile too…and just like that I seemed to have literally sweated my anger away.

I made my loop around the park again running, none stop.  It seemed easier this time.  Killer Hill 1 is still a challenge for me, but not as much as when I first started.

I felt really amazing by the time I ran up Killer Hill 2, also seemed easier.

Here’s the skinny: I can’t avoid negativity in my life, and as much as I try to maintain a positive outlook, there will be occasions from time to time when negativity will get in the way.  My working out I do for me, and I can’t let anything, especially stupid negative crap, ever stop me from taking care of me.  Cause then the bad guys win.  It is especially when it envelopes you, the crappy parts of life, that you need to force yourself away from it’s hold and do something for you, even if at first you don’t feel like it.  Pursuing to be positive is not as hard as some people may think.