Maybe it’s a seasonal thing – or a Weight Watchers® thing or a career dieter thing. Maybe it’s just a woman thing – or maybe it’s just a ME thing. Who knows? What is it? Weight fluctuations!
You know what I’m talking about!
Now that we are coming through what appears to be the other side of this global pandemic where we’ve endured long suffering trials and challenges with viruses and lockdowns – it may be time to begin the reunification process and return to some semblance of normal life. Specifically, that pivotal moment when you must reunify your post-pandemic body with a pair of pre-pandemic “real pants.”
Many of us succumbed to the pull of the dark side (or maybe it was just ME) over the last 19 months and existed solely on the comfort food of our wardrobes … the faithful, always cozy, and never judgy pair of leggings. Or jeggings. Or joggers. (OH MY!) Or as in my case – sweatpants.
On the bright side – it’s finally that point in time in the desert southwest when the early morning and evening temperatures are finally dipping below the 80-degree mark. That’s the good news. However, now that fall weather or some reasonable facsimile of autumnal weather has at last appeared, the not so good news is it’s time for the bi-annual changing of the wardrobe. We segue from shorts, capris, tank tops and sandals to – jeans, capris, sleeves and sandals. We desert dwelling sun worshippers have very few deviations in our fashion arsenal.
I’d been dreading the changing of the wardrobe for many, many weeks. That moment of truth when I knew I had to face the music. Pay the piper. Own up to my caloric over-indulgences and take accountability for any damage I may have done to my body with this whole pandemic lifestyle. I wouldn’t be worried if I’d been more calorically diligent the last year and a half. But I’m not blind. I KNOW what I’ve done! Baking and tasting. Tasting and baking. The baking and tasting of breads and cookies and cakes and more … OH MY!
I’ve tried not to live my life being a slave to my bathroom scale – or as I like to call it: PAMMI, which is an acronym for Personality Altering Mood Monitoring Instrument.
PAMMI and I have a rather long history which has not always bode well for my delicate self-esteem and fragile confidence level. Since I successfully lost over 50 pounds several years ago, I vowed to live a life unshackled by the dictates of a few numbers on a scale. PAMMI is not the enemy, but rarely is she my friend.
For the most part I’ve maintained that significant weight loss by letting my clothes be my guide. (Until recently.) If things started to feel a little snug around my mid-section, I was fairly disciplined in cutting back on my food intake and limiting my portion sizes. (Until recently.) For me – denim jeans are a better litmus test for weight loss maintenance than the bathroom scale. (Until recently.)
I’ve managed to keep the scale in her proper place by engaging in a mandatory PAMMI check once a month. (Until recently.) Anything more frequent and there is a risk of returning to false idol worship. Sadly, the bathroom scale is a cleverly disguised tool of mass destruction utilized by Satan who will stop at nothing to destroy God’s people.
Pre-pandemic I had a pretty good handle on my lifelong sugar addiction. Now deep in the trenches of waging war with an invisible virus, mass-media hysteria, and governmental mandated over-reach and lo and behold, the liberties I’ve taken by re-introducing my addictive nemesis (Mr. Sugar and all that that implies) to my delicately balanced, vulnerable sweet tooth and … poof!
Welcome back the return of the dreaded muffin top. That barely disguised protective layer of subcutaneous squishiness was fairly easy to disguise with a sweatpants drawstring. Wrestling with a real live zipper and the restrictive confines of unforgiving denim, however, and suddenly we are zeroing in on a Defcon 1 crisis situation.
A couple of weeks ago I dedicated an entire morning to facing my denim demons head-on. I pulled out every pair of jeans I own (which was way more than I realized). One-by-sad-one, I squeezed my excess squishiness into each pair of pants. It was that whole marshmallow through a keyhole thing! Suddenly a dozen pairs of jeans became Judge, Jury and Executioner all in one fluid zip of motion.
While I was able to pull each pair of jeans fully up and over my hips, thighs and burgeoning backside – engaging the metal zipper on most was an exercise in creativity. Holding my breath, sucking in my stomach like a championship Dirt Devil, I managed to button and zip every. Single. Pair. Of. Jeans.
Breathing however, was another story.
Okay. I may be embellishing a tad for dramatic effect. It wasn’t as bad as I had feared. The accusatory voice of the enemy and my own wandering imagination has been taunting me relentlessly leading up to my day of denim reckoning. Yes, things are tighter – but get thee behind my behind Satan! My behind has not grown that much! I will not succumb to defeat and repeat previous failures.
But — I definitely have work to do.
My way of coping and combatting the battle of the post-pandemic protrusion of pudgy pot-bellied parts is simple. STOP BAKING! STOP SAMPLING! STOP TAKING CALORIC LIBERTIES! STOP COMPLAINING! STOP, STOP, STOP listening to the lies of the enemy!
START DOING THINGS DIFFERENTLY! RETURN TO WHAT WORKED BEFORE!
My first order of business was to “Marie Kondo” the closet. Marie Kondo is an expert organizer who believes you should part with the things that no longer give you pleasure.
My inventory revealed a cornucopia of cotton that included various styles of Straight leg, boot-cut, Boyfriend and baggie jeans.
Right out of the gate, I Marie Kondoed three pair of “crack pants” that quite honestly, NEVER gave me pleasure. There is nothing pleasurable about jeans that ride low on your hips, just below the belly button and expose your butt-crack if your shirt happens to ride up in the slightest. Seriously? Nobody needs these jeans!
The crack pants still fit and I could zip them – and breathe – but the muffin top was grotesquely accentuated by the low-riders. If a pandemic has taught us anything it’s that life is too short and too fragile to wear clothing that steals your joy and sucks every last vestige of your aging self-confidence from you. Bam! I Kondoed all of the crack pants!
After organizing my jeans I moved my most favorite jeans, a pair of Levi Strauss straight leg jeans front and center. Pre-pandemic, these jeans fit like a comfortable pair of jammies. They are well-worn, but not overly worn out. There is still a lot of life left in these jeans.
In my opinion, when we are at the right weight and size FOR US, our clothes fit so well that we don’t think about them. Our clothes are just an extension of us and we pay no notice of what is on our body. Well-fitting clothes are just there. When clothes are too tight, though, they bind, they pinch, they ride up and cause unnecessary wedgies. When your jeans are too tight – you notice. Every step, every stride, every bend-over, bend down, crossed leg or squat makes you wish you had a life-alert bracelet within easy reach as you are dangerously close to a 9-1-1 natural disaster.
My favorite jeans still fit, but it was clear they were tighter than they were a few months ago. The waist band pinched and my legs felt like they were sheathed in sausage casings. I formulated a plan that would get me comfortably back to B.C. shape (before COVID).
I decided I was going to wear these jeans every day until they fit – plain and simple. I was determined to either stretch them out or lose enough weight to feel comfortable again. I would have worn them to bed every night if I thought I could get away with it, but hey, a girl has to sleep, and tight pants are not conducive to a good night’s rest. What I DID DO, was wear them around the house for a while every day – most specifically – every time I felt like mindless snacking whether out of boredom, anxiousness or stress – I donned my denim. The tighter the waistband – the less motivated I was to eat.
It may not be Weight Watchers® or Noom approved – but it worked marvelously for me. After one week, I was able to slip my jeans on without engaging in aerobic exercise. The jeans are almost back to my pre-pandemic comfort level. But still … we are not home free just yet. In Life’s marathon of weight loss/maintenance there will be slower stretches, sprints, small victories and stretches where you just want to flat out quit! As an ambassador for Christ and the caretaker of His temple, quitting is not an option.
As with everything in life, God never leaves me hanging. He takes my mistakes and mess-ups and leaves me with a valuable life lesson.
The lesson of the tight jeans is that: Have I forgotten WHO God is and what he is capable of?
What God has done before – HE ABSOLUTELY CAN DO AGAIN.
In the Old Testament the Israelites often built altars for sacrifice, but also to mark and remember important events for the times they witnessed God’s faithfulness to them. Whenever God displayed his power – like parting the Jordan River for Joshua for example (Joshua 4), people would create an altar as a remembrance for themselves and future generations. The altars were made of 12 stones representing the 12 tribes of Israel.
Because I’ve been so distracted, frustrated and somewhat anxious about everything revolving around this pandemic, I made the mistake of turning to food for comfort. I chose baked goods instead of Jesus. Rather than punishing me – Jesus reminded me …
“REMEMBER what I’ve already done for you! What I’ve done before, I can do again! If it were easy everyone could do it! Failure is not final. Failure can be a building block. When you fall down, you get back up. AGAIN! Pick up your mat and walk. (John 5:8) Pick up these stones of defeat and build me an altar.”
A little hot glue and 12 shiny stones of assorted sizes and voila, I built a remembrance altar. It’s small enough to fit in my hand and I carry it with me from room to room. When I want to snack, I look at my stone “altar.” When I feel defeated, I count the 12 stones and remember all that Jesus has done for me.
It’s not a pretty altar, but it’s a pretty great reminder of the BIG God I serve and how he helped me conquer addiction, idol worship and weight loss before. It can be so easy to forget how powerful the Lord of the Universe is when we get caught up in the day-to-day cares of life. We NEED reminders!
Two steps forward, three steps back. I’ll keep doing it until I get it right – no matter how long it takes or how many times I stumble. Jesus is always there to pick me up!
Do YOU know Jesus like I KNOW Jesus?
QUOTE OF THE DAY:
Kathleen Kurlin 