This year in February, I turned 33. Eek. I cringe just typing that number. It didn’t feel like I was born that long ago. For my birthday this year, I didn’t have any expectations or know exactly how I wanted my thirty third year to turn out. What I didn’t want was to get on the scale and learned that I was 131 lbs, and I’m not even pregnant. For someone to be that weight, and only 5 feet tall and Asian American, it is definitely a concerning number. I was tipping the scale into overweight territory, and for the first time in my life, I felt great doom about my health.
One part of me could’ve avoided it altogether. She could’ve compared herself to other overweight people of her generation and say, “Well, it’s not so bad. I mean, look at everyone else!” But the other part of me was tired of comparing myself to others and didn’t want to base my level of what’s normal in terms of health against what I currently see. I realize that too often we do that–compare ourselves to what’s current as a way to rationalize our own behavior and lack of self control and to desensitize ourselves from what we don’t want our future selves to be.
I decided I had to face my problem head on. So I began with resisting sweet treats at the end of February, right after my birthday. I was inundated with baked goods for several months, and I heartily accepted…which was probably what added the pounds on my body. When I realized that baked goods are the devil until I can lose 10 lbs, I had to say no.
Then, in March, I began an exercise routine. Mind you, I’ve never really been an exercise fiend at all. I barely survived PE in high school. I do enjoy a game of kickball or badminton now and then, but as far as exercise for health is concerned, I’ve always been blessed with a metabolism that allowed me to pretty much eat anything I wanted without gaining weight. That metabolism got fed up with me and said goodbye last winter, and I was left to deal with the error of my own ways.
I begrudgingly said to my husband, “I want to start exercising.” (grumpy face). Even though he wasn’t technically overweight, he was feeling the seasonal depression too, and thought that exercising might help, so he agreed to be my running partner. From March until June, we ran every other night after the kids went to bed, because that was the only time we had to ourselves.
I’m not going to lie–the first few weeks were incredibly difficult. So difficult that I wanted to quit. But whenever the thought of quitting entered my mind, I also rebutted with the thought of not wanting to be overweight at all whatsoever. I wanted to be in the normal range again. I knew that the only way to lower that weight was to exercise.
End of story, right? Not so much.
After a month or so of running, and realizing that it’s not so bad after all, I ran my first 5K–an amazing feat, one that I will call a personal achievement, because never in my life did I ever think that I could complete a 5K. EVER. With all this excitement about completing a 5K, I thought I could just continue what I was doing–running for 30-45 minutes four times a week. But the weight didn’t come off…at least not as fast as I’d hoped. After several more weeks of running, I realized that I barely lost 2 lbs. I felt very discouraged.
So I started reevaluating myself. Is it what I’m eating? I wondered. I discussed this with my husband, and after doing some research, came to the conclusion that in order to lose weight quicker, I’d have to amp up the protein, fruits & vegetables, and crank down the carbs and the starch. Rice was my biggest vice. I love, love, love rice. I grew up with it, and can never part with it. That’s why I eat it almost every day for dinner. Heaping big scoops of rice, possibly two cups of that beautiful starch regularly entered my stomach.
I learned that the amount of rice I was eating was adding on hundreds more calories than I needed and that in order to lose the weight, I’d have to burn more calories than I took in. Thus began another journey of resisting rice. Two cups became one quarter of a cup–a dramatic difference on a plate. Again, it was excruciating, like waiting for the results of a genetic test to find out whether you have the chromosomal abnormality for cystic fibrosis.
As painful as it was to give up that much rice, I started to see results right away. Combine that with the exercising, I was able to lose the weight in just three months. These days, the pants and shorts I wear are so incredibly loose that I can put two hands into it and still see plenty of space around my waist. My husband can also do the same.
These days we don’t exercise nearly as much anymore. We decided to take a little break for now. I am currently in a state where I’m happy with my weight. Temptation rises all the time, especially nowadays at my new job where there are treats all around all the time. Sometimes I can resist the doughnut. This morning I didn’t though.
But what I’ve taken away from the past seven months is this: it’s unrealistic to compare yourself to others, given that the standards in which others live their lives are not the same as yours. If I had ignored my angel side telling me that it’s a good idea to exercise, I would’ve joined the millions of people in America who are overweight and can’t find the inner strength to exercise or eat healthy.
Look, I’m not trying to generalize or put people on a certain pedestal, but I am saying that once you let go of what others around you are doing and saying and thinking and start listening to yourself and your own values, you will realize what’s important to you. As philosophical as that sounds, I think that rule can be applied to just about anything, not just health. Letting go of preconceived notions and self-doubt was purely life-changing for me. Once I started thinking of myself as an able-bodied person who can do things and should probably do things, then things started happening beyond what I expected.