Well, I didn't know what to think. Was my mind playing tricks? Was there more to this Karen then realized?
3 miles. Always 3 miles. Actually, last few days, to give myself a bit of a cushion while running, I’ve actually made it to 3.08 miles. Last week, there were times I wasn’t making the 3 miles in 30 minutes, so I ran extra to make it, but we’re talking about running for an extra 20-30 seconds to make it to 3 miles exactly, so I decided to run faster earlier on, and have a little leeway to make it past 3 miles.
It is strange how perception can become reality. This morning I was at 217 lbs. And yet…and yet, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw a big old fat belly. I just stared at it for a moment realizing that it isn’t possible for my stomach to look as distended as it does, I’ve lost too much weight for that to be a possibility, but that is all I could see. I put on my size 38 jeans, walk to the computer and they started falling down. I pull on my blue Polo Sport shirt, and it looks normal on me, doesn’t look stretched out around the stomach as many shirts have looked on me for years, and yet, and yet, AND YET when I look in the mirror, it looks like a pregnant woman’s stomach to me (granted, a very hairy pregnant woman’s stomach).
I recognize it is all part of a mild body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). I don’t think it is anything extreme (if you read up on BDD, it can be quite brutal and paralyzing mentally) but it is strange how I can’t seem to see myself as having lost weight. I mean, I can go to the grocery store and hold up 40+ pounds of sugar and see the tremendous amount of weight I have lost. But, many times in my head when I see myself in a mirror, I still see a complete fatso. Like Orca-fat. Marlon Brando from like “Apocalypse Now” fat, not the hot Marlon Brando from “A Streetcar Named Desire.”
The weird part is that, on the evening before I left for Amsterdam, when I was actually one pound heavier than I weighed this morning, I felt much thinner than I feel today. I felt much better about how I looked in the clothes I was wearing on the flight over to Amsterdam than I do about anything I own today.
I don’t want to be one of those people who are so insanely unhappy with their looks that they are miserable all the time. I want to actually get to some point where I am quite happy with myself, at least how I look. I guess “happy” is the wrong word. More like “comfortable.” And I know it is possible.
Or I hope it is.
I guess all I really know is that tonight, I’ll be running, another 3.08 miles, give or take a hundreth.
It is strange how perception can become reality. This morning I was at 217 lbs. And yet…and yet, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw a big old fat belly. I just stared at it for a moment realizing that it isn’t possible for my stomach to look as distended as it does, I’ve lost too much weight for that to be a possibility, but that is all I could see. I put on my size 38 jeans, walk to the computer and they started falling down. I pull on my blue Polo Sport shirt, and it looks normal on me, doesn’t look stretched out around the stomach as many shirts have looked on me for years, and yet, and yet, AND YET when I look in the mirror, it looks like a pregnant woman’s stomach to me (granted, a very hairy pregnant woman’s stomach).
I recognize it is all part of a mild body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). I don’t think it is anything extreme (if you read up on BDD, it can be quite brutal and paralyzing mentally) but it is strange how I can’t seem to see myself as having lost weight. I mean, I can go to the grocery store and hold up 40+ pounds of sugar and see the tremendous amount of weight I have lost. But, many times in my head when I see myself in a mirror, I still see a complete fatso. Like Orca-fat. Marlon Brando from like “Apocalypse Now” fat, not the hot Marlon Brando from “A Streetcar Named Desire.”
The weird part is that, on the evening before I left for Amsterdam, when I was actually one pound heavier than I weighed this morning, I felt much thinner than I feel today. I felt much better about how I looked in the clothes I was wearing on the flight over to Amsterdam than I do about anything I own today.
I don’t want to be one of those people who are so insanely unhappy with their looks that they are miserable all the time. I want to actually get to some point where I am quite happy with myself, at least how I look. I guess “happy” is the wrong word. More like “comfortable.” And I know it is possible.
Or I hope it is.
I guess all I really know is that tonight, I’ll be running, another 3.08 miles, give or take a hundreth.
posted by Mike at 8:34 AM
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