Belly Wedgie

Belly wedgie (noun). Definition: The condition of having the fabric of one’s shirt caught between rolls of belly fat. Use: She tugged at her shirt to free her belly wedgie from the folds of her stomach.

As I sit here, I can feel my stomach pressed up against the restrictively tight waistband of my jeans. Well, half of my stomach. The other half has burst over the top of said waistband, liberating itself from the prison that is this pair of too-tight jeans.

I'm desperate to hike my pants up to contain my bulge, but I'm in a room full of people. So, I have to settle for executing the "oh, just tugging at my shirt to make sure it falls right" move, which is really just a subtle way of disengaging the fabric from the folds of my stomach fat. It’s what I call a belly wedgie.

How on earth did I get here?

About six years ago, I lost 30 pounds. I felt amazing and vowed never go get so heavy again. If I ever did start to gain weight, I would do a course correction at five pounds, I told myself. That was 10 pounds ago.

After four years of keeping my weight off, I've watched as the number on the scale crept up over the past two years.

A few pounds here. A few pounds there.

No big deal, I told myself. I can get that under control pretty quickly.

And now all of a sudden, it seems, I gained 15 pounds. I can't believe that number. How did this happen?

I could tell you I had a hard time with reintegration when my husband returned from deployment. I could tell you I haven't been sleeping well. I could tell you I hurt my knee and had to have surgery. I could tell you these things because they are all true.

But, it is also true that I let it happen. Again.

It's that last word that stings so acutely.

Again.

I knew better. I worked so hard all those years ago. And now? I've got half of that work to do all over. Again.

It is so much harder to do something again than for the first time.

First-timers have that doe-eyed optimism that seasoned folks lose. It becomes increasingly difficult to build up one's enthusiasm for a second, third, fourth time.

"THIS will be the time it sticks for good," we tell ourselves. But in the back of our minds, we wonder, "Will it?"

If the logic is true that if we did it once, we can do it again; then doesn't the logic also hold true that if we let ourselves go once, we can let ourselves go again?

Yes.

And that can be a scary thought for us repeat offenders.

On top of that, we have a whole helping of guilt, blame and shame that we've served ourselves. Just like the ice cream and chips, we eat it up. At least, I did.

Yes, I should hold myself accountable, but there's a fine line between taking responsibility and being a bully.

Instead of asking myself how I got here, I should be asking myself, "Now what?"

I started working with a personal trainer again. After slacking off on my workouts, I am building my strength back up. And I'm not judging myself - too harshly, anyway – for only being able to lift five pounds.

I’ve also started tracking my food again. I’m no longer deluding myself that I haven’t eaten that much. There it is in black and white.

As odd as it sounds, by being beholden to the trainer and tracker, I feel more in control. It’s liberating.

Now, if only I could liberate my belly wedgie without anyone noticing.