Weight? Weight. Don’t Tell Me.

I suppose I should start this with a true and necessary disclaimer–I don’t care about other people’s bodies. No, that’s not true: I care about other people’s bodies in that I want them to be safe, nourished, and cared for; I don’t care what they look like, or what shape they are or are not in. This is a post about my body, which I do have opinions about and goals regarding–but please, do not read shame or judgment about you into this. It is simply not there.

I see pictures of myself in high school, posted by a friend with too many scanned and ready to live forever on facebook, and I think, “I thought I was out of shape?” I see pictures of myself from the start of divinity school, before my adventures in liquid calories, and I think, “I thought I was fat?” And I’ve never been comfortable thinking in terms of fat or skinny–we are far too caught up in those terms, we stigmatize and discriminate against overweight people, and idealize without testing those who are at socially desirable weights and figures… but I see pictures of myself and have felt like a bad steward of my physical self, and I want to change that.

On January 1, 2020, I weighed 240.4 pounds. I am just under six feet tall. According to the Body Mass Index (which, I know, has its own shortcomings and issues like all systems), I am obese, at 33%. On January 1, 2020, I got winded going from our basement to the attic where my writing space is. (It’s three flights of stairs, one of which is steep as hell, but, that’s an excuse.) I’d looked at my diet and found parts of it lacking (I love sugar) and realized I’d done nothing to change my habits, even after getting sober. So I made some minor changes. And I mean minor. I’ve walked the dogs a few times; I’m drinking more water; I switched from carb-heavy cereal in the morning to a smoothie with protein powder.

And I feel better. And I look better. And I believe there’s change actually happening, because I am actually pursuing change. I want to have better stamina, I want to lose my gut, I want to tone up because it honors the body I was given, and the God who gave it to me. So I’m weighing myself every two weeks–and only every two weeks. January 1, 240.4 pounds. January 15, 234.8 pounds. It’s the Christmas-crap diet being eliminated, it’s water weight, it’s whatever and however–but it is a good moment for me. There’s possibility in this year, in the 1827 Project.

This will be one that gets deleted, surely. But it’s all right. No one reads this, yet.

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