This is the ONLY TIME I will Talk About This Subject

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What follows is NOT the opinion of a Registered Dietician. I have no more training in weight loss than any other American woman. What follows is my opinion as a human who has a body.

Advertisement images lie. Politicians lie. Parents lie to their children and (probably more often) to themselves. We lie to ourselves. You know what doesn't lie? You know what doesn't involve itself in the kind of magical thinking that can leave one physically unfit, mentally exhausted and spiritually paper thin? Math.

Math. Don't. Lie. It can't.

A calorie was not created to help you loathe your body. A calorie is a mathematical equation created by nerds in lab coats so that something could be better and more uniformly understood. Math isn't sneaky or mysterious. A calorie is a calorie and there is no amount of magical thinking that can change that. Surprisingly, I find this comforting because it takes away so much of the potential drama my monkey brain wants to create around food.

I’m NOT suggesting you start counting calories or use a scale. I don't do either. But in a world where I can't fix my problems with my own (at times) perilously imbalanced brain, math is a comfort. Unlike how people could have voted for Trump, the reason I have a soft belly is not a dark scary mystery to lament and wring my meaty peasant hands over. It's just math and centuries upon centuries of my ancestors being fucking awesome at holding onto energy because you never know when potatoes are going to get a terrible disease.

When I wake up, I want to feel three things: grounded, connected & silly. For me, this requires daily attention because—as I once heard RuPaul say—one's fucked-uped-ness is like a tail that grows back daily unless we attend to it. Daily. There are days when I carry around a long-as-fuck tail. Those are not good days.

Self-destructive choices around food are like a tail that grows back. My job every day is to wake up and shave the tail. It's dumb and it’s not fair, but that's the way it is. Some days I'm better at doing my job than others. Thinking about math helps me keep the tail in check.

Math helps.

The Finisher. It's by design.

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I’ve decided the medicine we offer at the Reset is called Takecareyodamnself®. Here’s our medicine’s directions: DO (physical) THINGS YOU LOVE YOUR OWN WAY AND DON’T JUDGE YOURSELF FOR NOT DOING IT JUST LIKE or AS GOOD AS SOMEONE ELSE AND ALSO USE EXERCISE TO PRACTICE HANDLING HARD THINGS. Because HOW YOU HANDLE HARD THINGS IN THE STUDIO IS HOW YOU HANDLE THEM OUTSIDE THE STUDIO. 

Most days, we finish class with an exercise that is very hard. We do the exercise one time. Sometimes I set a time interval or suggest a number of repetitions, but usually I just say, “Do it until you think you’re done. Then do one more. Then you’re done.” I include the finisher and program it that way on purpose. My purpose? To help us 1. Practice laughing off D-R-A-M-A around trying new things and 2. Practice coaching ourselves through something new/hard/scary and 3. Celebrating after.

Oh. You weren't perfect? You did not exhibit the cardiovascular endurance of a sprinter? Your muscles fatigued over time and exertion? SHOCKER. How about just feeling curious and interested when you try something new, and see if you can be kind to yourself AT THE SAME TIME YOU expose yourself to a challenging experience. Oh, you want to wait to try things until you feel “confident enough” to expose yourself? Okay, but that's a waiting game that could go on for a while.

I believe the world needs us right now to love ourselves through hard things because there are so many things that need to get done. And coming up with chuzpah takes practice. Come to the Reset to grease the wheels of being brave. Let's ugly laugh/cryroan/celebrate together while trying something hard and then give each other 125 high fives after. And then let's go out in the world and do the same. damn. thing