Could it be a Plateau?

Damn I hate that word! Plateau. It's the kind of word that has to be said with an air of disdain when saying it. A word that violently and frustratingly rolls off the tip of my tongue and brings tears of bitterness to my eyes. OK, so slight exaggeration but creative flair has to be accounted for in all my stories.

Last night as Muscle Man and I were having dinner, I pursed my bottom lip and in an annoyingly pouty tone announced that I have hit a plateau!! Muscle Man remarked that the glass of red wine in one hand and pork crackling in the other might be adding to my so called plateau. How rude!

Indignantly I reminded him that wine is my only vice and 8 out of 10 times I choose and will eat the healthy, nutritionally balanced meals. If anything there would be days where I am not meeting my daily calorie quota, rather than the other way around. So, what is the problem? Why do I feel like I am stuck on struggle street not loosing an inch of weight or a centimetre of size.

I've always carried the most weight in my mid section. A number of years ago I attended one of those L.A Weight loss style centres where they charge you one mortgage payment up front to draw your blood, advise you of your weight, and then throw big scary words at you before asking you to sign your soul to the program. Of course they forget to tell you that to actually join the program you need to take out a small loan and be prepared for pessimistic and catastrophic words and syndromes to be thrown at you every time you front up for a new blood test!

After my initial consult I walked away with a hole in my pocket and the knowledge that I apparently had metabolic something-or-other failure (I was distracted by the fact that the guy informing me of this condition and it's associated outcomes, was easily 50kgs heavier than I was). Along with the disheartening information that I was apparently unable to lose weight easily, I was also faced with all these side affects of this so called syndrome. Heart failure, infertility, varicose veins, FAT, acne, bad breath...oh the list went on. I walked out convinced I HAD to join their program or otherwise any efforts on my behalf were hopeless and futile.

In the end the sheer cost of the program was the deterring factor (well that and the fact it was hard to believe the program had results when the persons providing it had such evident weight issues also). I've never really been one for labels. My family has a strong history of depression, and aside from the fact I find it very hard to understand at times, I refuse to believe that because it's there, and the genetic timeline, is evident, that I don't have some control over the outcomes myself. Well, I felt the same way about this metabolic syndrome thingy-ma-jig.

Turns out I CAN lose weight on my own without the aid of blood tests, beetroot juice, starvation and various other methods of torture. However, it's no secret (to me at least) that it is DAMN HARD WORK! Sometimes I just feel like throwing my hands in the air and screaming to the weight loss Gods WHY ME?!?!!? Why did I have to be one of the unlucky ones who has a cup of tea and gets bloated. Why did I have to be one of the ones who was born with chubby thigh rolls that never disappeared, one of the ones who still looks 6 months pregnant when her children are 12 months old. I have ALWAYS had a muffin top, I've always had a bigger butt and I have always had a distinguishable donut if I clench my hands around my belly and make a circle with the excess fat!

I'd be outright lying if I said that I am just blissed out with my body now. I am not. Whilst I completely recognise and appreciate my efforts, and can see the hard slog I've given it, I can also honestly say that it frustrates me that I can jog 30kms in a week, eat healthy and nutritionally balanced foods all week and still not budge an inch!

Ahhh, you see this is where the "P" word comes in! Despite Nardi's Wii fit advising me I need to lose another 8 kilos to be in the centre of my healthy BMI, I know that I am happy with my weight. The number on the scales really does not distress me so much these days. No, it's the image I see when I look in the mirror, or put on a pair of low cut jeans. The bulges that spill over in the moments where I let my guard down and rest lazily on my residual baby belly.

I do understand that for anyone reading this who may be at the start of their weight loss journey, you may think "What is this crazy girl whinging about" and I admit I feel a sense of embarrassment or guilt that I do feel this way, but I also want to be transparent and honest in my personal observations that this weight loss gig is constant! I am yet to find the point where there is no such place as hard work or sacrifice. For me, it's always hard work, because for me the battle is raging in my mind.

I guess that's a blog for another day though isn't it. Healthy body = healthy mind or healthy mind = healthy body?!