Talking about weight seems to be an unending fad. The internet is filled with detailed chronicles of people’s success stories, cheat sheets, tips and tricks, workout regimes, topped with intense emotions of initial rejections and low self-esteem, followed by never-give-up spirit and dedicated efforts for the coveted beach body (ironically for a nation where the majority don’t know how to swim!), the before-after pictures, the selfies, the compliments, the confidence, and at times the flatulence.
Now, don’t get me wrong here – I am definitely not belittling any of the hard work. With my laziness I don’t deserve to ridicule either. I can only admire, appreciate and yearn for such a story. I am just enthralled by how vivid they get; how just a small number plays a vital role in one’s life. Again, I don’t mean to say that we shouldn’t focus towards a healthy lifestyle. It is just about the other half of it – trimming down to impress. Same journey, different goals.
However, that’s off track. I too want to join the band wagon and speak about weight: how companies and organisations impose strict rules on us and make money out of it, and the tedious process of losing it. Trust me, accumulating is easy, eliminating isn’t. It took a good 1 week for me. The process broadly is divided into these categories:
Acceptance: Coming into terms with “Yes, I do have lot of extra weight.”
Identification: Finding and listing all the areas that need a shedding.
Implementation: The main step of working out to cut out all the excess weight.
Weighing: To keep track with the goal in sight and weighing regularly.
Motivation: Celebrating the achievement and motivating to push further.
Iteration: Repeating all over until the goal is reached.
And as the wise say, the effort is even more after pregnancy and child-birth. Both contribute towards some weight that either you can’t eliminate or won’t. But the end goal remains – it doesn’t consider these factors. The scale is tough and demanding.
I set mine at 45. A meagre 45. Underweight, isn’t it? But I couldn’t afford any more. 45 it was. And until I weighed, I never imagined in the wildest of my dreams that the scale would point to a whopping 72. Yes, that includes my pre and post described above. I had to make a choice. I had to move forward. I had to leave all that dragged me down behind.
I began the workout. Looped through it several times until after strenuous ups and downs I finally hit the magic number. I did it with a fair share of self-pity and the hardship of letting go. The biggest motivating factor was a new wardrobe – new clothes.
I wasn’t alone in this journey. My husband too was involved. I assigned him 55 kilos and made him iterate through the same trauma. And as cruel as it would sound, the child was also in it. 10 kgs was the cap. The poor thing obliged.
The day finally arrived when we had to present ourselves for scrutiny. Their scales were unforgiving. They wouldn’t allow even an ounce more than specified. We heaved and panted and waited for the red digits to roll. 100 it had to be and a 100 it was! Plus a 10 for the baby. Phew!
The airline check-in officer beamed at the thought of writing a hefty receipt for the extra 40 kilos that we checked in apart from the allowed 30 kilos per adult; I beamed for I was within the reimbursable amount for Excess Baggage by my company!
Well, did you think my body weight is just a 45?!