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There has always been a struggle with my body image.   Long before Dory just kept swimming, I was brought up to just keep moving.  I was a little chunky, at least that is what I thought I heard.  Sometimes my hearing can be distorted.  With that being said, I never thought I was thin, but I didn’t think I was fat either.   As I look back at pictures, I realize that I wish I had that body instead of the middle-age delight that has settled in for the winter.

I talk a lot about acceptance.    The art of truly embracing where you are, but I can confuse that with settling.    In two years, I have gained ten pounds, which doesn’t sound awful, but on a five foot frame, it is noticeable.   With my knee replacement, I was fairly inactive which didn’t help the issue.   I was convinced I had a thyroid issue.  Damn thyroid is fine.   I started exercising on the treadmill five days a week, nothing budged.  I don’t drink soft drinks.  I don’t eat fast food.   I don’t put crap in my body.  Yet, nothing budged.    So I surrendered.

I realized that I was settling.  Settling because I get uncomfortable with committing to a regiment.   The idea of disappointing myself is real.  Nobody else is telling me that my middle looks like a marshmallow or that my thighs make a clapping sound.  Nope, it is me and I am listening.  Maybe it is because I want to feel good and look good (a little vanity goes a long way).  So, I write this as a public announcement which makes me accountable.

I still work out five days a week, but I revved up the routine.  Intervals of running and walking along with strength training sprinkled with tweaking my diet.  Nothing drastic, but changes that I can live with like adding more protein to my breakfast and upping my water intake.    It has only been three days, but I feel and see a difference.  After forty, my metabolism decided to retire without informing me.    You see, I can accept that I will never be a size 2 (never was), but settling isn’t how I want the aging process to proceed.