Wednesday, October 20, 2010

I want my mission body back

You're probably going "whaaa?!" Why would she want that? Don't girls who go on missions get all frumpy and fat and come home fat as well? Well, people, I don't want my brag, but this wasn't case. While I myself wouldn't say that I came home looking pretty dang good, my friends and family do say that I came home looking pretty fit (that's british for looking pretty dang good).

I felt that I had a point to prove to the world by coming home weighing less than when I started. To prove that it was possible to not gain a ton of weight on a mission. I was determined to prove everyone wrong. Take that! But proving that point turned out to be surprisingly easy.

Sure, I exercised. Well, tried to. Sometimes I was really good, when it was convenient. For example: living on the coast of the Black Sea and being able to run on the beach every morning: the best thing that could have happened. It was glorious. Then there were those dark winter months when I would roll out of bed, lay on the floor and do a few sit ups, and then lay there lifeless for the rest of "exercise time." And yet even in those dark winter months, my weight didn't sky rocket. And it's not like I was eating all healthy either. Sure, the food was fresher and luckily I had control over what I ate (no member meals three times a day, thank goodness!), but when my British companion taught me how to make english chips (as in fish and chips), I swear I made them at least 3 times a week! And what are english chips but thick french fries. Healthy? Not really.

But my point is even with all the odds against me, I was in way better shape then I am now. And it was all too easy then. I don't get it! I'm kind of trying now, but nothing is really happening. I know a lot has to do with the fact that I now spend most of my day in a chair or a desk. Doing nothing, as opposed to the mission days when I was often running desperately to catch a bus or subway train.

And it doesn't help when you have a boyfriend who loves to eat and go to restaurants as much you do. (See previous post), and who lets me complain to him how I think I'm getting a little gross and chubby but doesn't say a word or judge me as I eat another chocolate...or two. (And I wouldn't have it any other way!)

And then there is always the fact that I am now 23 and not a carefree 19 year old who can eat whatever she wants, do a little exercise and be good to go. I hate being 23! Ok not really, but in this case, most definitely.

Sorry to vent and complain and be a debbie downer, folks. But that's what is occupying my thoughts a lot lately (I blame it on my corduroy pants I wore today that always make me feel chunky.) But if you have any advice on how to get motivated and stay motivated to exercise, I welcome any suggestions! And I did go running today, so I am kind of off to a good start in writing this post. Anyway.

I love you all. Stay cool.
Hugs and kisses and rainbows,


  1. Yeah...if I had a suggestion I would be happy with my 24 year old body. Nobody likes you when you're 23 anyway. At least that's what my friends say.

  2. well... wait till you hit 25 :D But I love my body, that is the first step. Loving you body does not mean accepting your look, but realize that this is who you are right now. Something that gets me motivated to exercise (I don't exercise now because I am too lazy) is making a goal of fitting into a tight T-shirt or pants or whatever in let's say 3 weeks. Then I do all i can to be able to wear it, even though right now I can't even get it on :))

  3. It could be worse Annie! You could have just given birth to twins, who completely stretch out your stomach, caused you to get a gigantic appendectomy scar, stretch marks, and then an even larger c-section scar, only to find out that all the workouts in the world will not get rid of your extra skin. Not to mention every time you workout hard your milk supply goes down, and major dieting effects it as well. So you workout anyway, drink as much as possible, and slowly realize that you might find yourself one day in an ugly pair of mommy jeans.