Have I mentioned that I am pretty much perpetually on a diet of some kind? I am, usually with mixed results due to some pretty haphazard efforts on my part.
Fortunately this time I have joined forces with Hannah and Diego. Our fridge is constantly stocked with fresh veggies and other boring things, and whenever I want to splurge on gelato or cupcakes (both dangerously available within walking distance of the casa), I have a man with perfect hair to glower at me and remind me that swimming suit season is just around the corner. So it's a win-win.
Also in my dieting corner is my faithful Android phone, complete with weight loss apps. According to my friendly "Lose It!" app, if I want to achieve my weight loss goal by mid-June, I can consume 1,300 calories a day. If I want to achieve it at the end of May, I can eat 1,100 calories a day and Lose It! does not recommend a caloric intake of below 1,200 calories a day but here's how one might hypothetically go about it! Oh technology, what would I do without you?
Dieting is definitely the worst, there's no two ways around it. But the one good thing about dieting at 28 versus dieting at 18 is this: now I have the perspective to accept that things will probably not get better in the immediate future than they are now.
Is that a depressing thought? I don't mean it to be. Of course I want to achieve my weight loss goal (ideally by the end of May, but I will take mid-June if means my bones are still capable of holding me up), I want the flat abs I had in high school, I want to be able to run an 8 minute mile again. I suspect I am capable of achieving all these things.
But I no longer want to lose 30 pounds just because I weighed 105 pounds when I was fifteen. (Did I kinda-sorta just reveal my weight online? I kinda-sorta did.) Now I will be happy to lose 15, 5 of which has already been achieved. (Booyah and thank you.)
Do I want to get rid of the cellulite on my thighs? You betcha. Will I happily shell out money someday if they ever invent a plastic surgery that can achieve a lump-free aesthetic? Absolutely. Does that make me shallow? Probably. Do I care? Nope. (I believe in the kind of feminism that promotes accepting people the way they are, while giving them the leeway to change what they can't accept about themselves if they want. SUE ME.)
But the difference between 28 and 18 is that at 28, I've realized that my thighs at this moment are probably the cutest they will ever be. My legs will not be less-cellulitey the summer of my 29th year and there's a chance they will be worse. So unlike 18, when I never wore shorts in public because oh gosh I am so hideous!, now I wear shorts whenever I feel like it, chubbiness and all.
Because yes, my thighs aren't perfect, but damnit, they aren't bad. They're mine and they get me where I want to go and if the sun is out and the breeze is nice, they deserve to enjoy it. I already lost my chance to wear shorts over my 18 year old thighs (and 19, and 20, and 21, and so on until around 25 when I finally, mercifully, began to get over myself) because I was self-conscious. I'm not losing the chance with the 28 year old versions.
When I go home tonight, I'll water my garden, take Spencer on a walk, and then Hannah, Diego and I will head off to Gold's Gym for a Zumba/Power Flex double header. I'll probably wear shorts and not worry so much about the fact that I am the awkwardest Zumbaer in the world. (Really, it's pretty bad.)
And then I'll grill some shrimp and sweet peppers for dinner with the roomies, because if you can't have cupcakes, spicy shrimp ain't bad.
(Spicy shrimp marinade, if you're interested:
1 large clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1 1/2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
lemon juice of 1/2 lemon
Mix it all up, spoon pour over shrimp, grill, discard the rest.)