Spasmodically: in spurts or fits. “I began to workout intermittently and spasmodically”
Yes, that is me this past summer. I found myself at a size and weight familiar to me only prior to my divorce almost 20 years ago. I hit the gym hard! I convinced myself that cauliflower tasted exactly like rice and potatoes, and that zucchini was identical to a heaping mound of hearty fettuccine. I lost 20 pounds!! I rewarded myself with a pile of jeans and super cute dresses!
But, that was summer. The seasons have changed. All you have to do is look outside at the beautiful leaves dropping from the trees. It is fall. And ooooohhhh…how I have fallen…
Half of the weight I lost has made it back to me. Those super cute dresses are a bit snug, to say the least. While I wish I could say this is so unlike me; truth is…I cannot.
This is me. This has always been me. Ever since middle school, this has been me.
Can I get an “AMEN” from my fellow spasmodic fitness gurus?

When I was younger, this yo-yo pattern ate at me to the core! I would literally hate myself for gaining weight back! I wouldn’t want to leave the house because “everything looks gross on me”! I would actually fall into a bit of a depression. It hit me hard.
Now that I am ever so close to those 2 magic digits: “5-0″…I can honestly say that I don’t really care all that much.
Truth is, I am not in my 20s. Truth is, I am not in my 30s. The truth is, I am almost 50 years old. I am almost 50 years old and the truth is, what my body looks like physically has been severely brought down on my list of what is important to me. This has been proven to be both freeing and strange. Maybe strangely freeing would be appropriate?
Truth is, when I used to wear a size 2, I would STILL have moments (and many of them) where I felt fat and didn’t want to leave the house. Truth is, when I used to have a tiny waist and the cutest little bubble butt, I still would end up with a pile of clothes strewn about my floor as I hunted for the one item that didn’t make me look like a moose. Truth is, even at my tiniest physical size, I still had just as many days of feeling gross as I did at any other size. It really made no difference.

So, here I sit. Almost 50 years old. Still hitting the gym hard when I feel a little too chunky. Still indulging in Chinese fried rice to reward myself for hitting the gym hard when I feel chunky. Down 10 pounds, up 5 pounds, down 7 pounds, up 12 pounds. A bit frustrating at times, but for the most part…oh well.
I am finally arriving at a stage in my life where my physical appearance does not rule the roost! Again…strangely freeing.
I am finally coming to understand that my physical appearance, while more important to me at some times than others, no longer holds the same value that I used to assign to it. Is this a sign of maturity? Am I giving up? Is this an understanding that evolves in everyone when they hit a certain age? Have you experienced this or is this just a part of my midlife crisis? Is this a good thing? Is it a bad thing? I really don’t know.
All I can say is that if my beloved, gorgeous, strong, fabulous idol, Lizzo were to ask me right now “baby, how you feelin’?”; my response would be a very boisterous and enthusiastic “FEELIN’ GOOD AS HELL”!!
Yep…strangely freeing…