We were under, we were over / We were young and now I’m older / But I’d do it all again
So, the thing is: progress—even huge, major, life-altering progress—does not always look the way you think it will.
This isn’t quite the post I thought I’d be writing today. After all, I’m a planner—and a wordy one, at that. For months, I’ve been contemplating the perfect words to describe my muscle-up journey, the culmination of which would obviously dovetail nicely with the end of my cut.
But we work with reality. And reality is: as of today, I still don’t have the muscle-up.
But you know what? I’ve mastered all the individual components, and so have earned the right to fling myself up toward the rings and actively try to put the pieces together. Which is more than I could say twelve weeks ago.
It’s not quite the timeline I wanted—and I’ll undoubtedly be pretty salty if I don’t get it before the Open—but I also know it WILL happen, whether it takes another six days, six weeks, or six months. And although my progress, objectively, probably has MORE to do with my awesome coach and programming than it does with my numerical bodyweight—I do also wholeheartedly believe that RP is one of the factors that has helped me get so much closer. (And I do have a shit-ton of other non-scale victories, for sure!)
In anticipation of the other (in my mind) likely outcome of this cut, I’d also been searching for the words to justify my rationale for (probably) ending my cut early rather than moving to the third tab, for why 140 lb was (likely) going to be the range where progress stalled.
But, again, we work with reality. And reality is: when I stepped on the scale this morning, it read 133.7 lb.
To put that in perspective: I weighed 142 lb in tenth grade, 155 lb when I graduated high school, 165 lb as a college swimmer, 148 lb as a post-college marathon runner, and 156 lb during my first couple years of CrossFit. And when I started this most recent body composition adventure back in March 2017, it was at my highest-ever weight of 173 lb.
Now, almost eleven months later—across eight weeks of traditional calorie restriction followed by two RP cuts and one RP maintenance—it would seem that I can officially claim to have lost FORTY POUNDS in the past year (whaaaaaat?!?).
I’m turning 34 on Tuesday—and it’s amazing, humbling, and mind-boggling to realize that I’ll be significantly leaner and healthier at 34 than I was at 24, or even at 14. And although this cut was tougher than my first—because the leaner you are, the harder it is—in terms of the hard numbers, from peak to nadir, I actually lost more weight on this round than I did on my first (a full 15# this time).
Granted, for once in my life, all the potential factors coincided in a good way to send me out on the most successful note possible; today’s final weight of 133.7 is likely a bit artificially low, mostly due to the juxtaposition of several factors from yesterday: —a non-training day (very few carbs / holding less water) —getting dry-needled by the PT (for some reason this always seems to cause me to drop a pound or so) —low-volume foods, because I spent most of yesterday on a road trip —being on day 6 of my period (which I rarely even get at all while cutting, so this was a total surprise) and therefore taking perfect advantage of the hormonal water weight drop. …However, I actually feel okay about all of this. It was neat to see a number that low—but I’m pleased and proud to realize that I truly don’t feel anxious about ‘hanging on’ to that number. Barring catastrophic illness or some other such life event, today is probably the lightest I will ever be—and I am fully okay with that.
To be fair, I do anticipate some intermittent future angst in that regard, which is one of the reasons I wrote a separate post of my non-scale victories across this cut as they related to my bodyweight at the time—my coach is continually talking me off the ledge in this regard, when I complain that I ‘feel heavy’ on a given day and that my bodyweight must be the reason that handstand push-ups feel so hard. :) But honestly, as long as I can stay somewhat close to 140—which, objectively, shouldn’t be an issue—then I don’t really need to care about the exact number on the scale. (Although, admittedly, I do really hope I get to keep the smaller bra size! :))
And here’s something else I wondered about, planned for, and worried over—which may, actually, be the biggest victory of all.
I worried that I wouldn’t know when to stop. After all, I live in America, surrounded by media messages of ‘thinness’ as the desirable body type. I was fortunate to grow up in a family where healthy eating was prioritized, and I’ve always been fit and active, but I’ve also never been ‘thin’. And because I’ve never experienced myself as a ‘small’ person, I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like psychologically. As a primary care provider, I’ve had some experience treating patients with eating disorders—and this second time around, starting from a much lighter size and not really ‘medically necessitating’ any further weight loss, the clinical part of my brain was mildly concerned that I, like so many other women, might lose perspective. This was one of the reasons I set my rule about not moving to Cut 3 under any circumstances—because I knew, objectively, that it wouldn’t make sense for my goals, and I halfway suspected that I might reach that point in the process and be tempted to do it anyway. Having never been truly ‘lean’ before, how would I know where the line was? How would I know when I was ‘done’?
As this cut progressed, it was both fascinating and unsettling to notice certain familiar ‘disease’ characteristics in myself—both physical (hair loss, dry skin, constantly feeling cold) and psychological (taking photos of my meals, menu planning, stockpiling tasty snacks in the pantry ‘for later’, unconsciously spending an excessive amount of time in the kitchen). However, it was ultimately empowering to realize that, all throughout, I still retained a certain degree of analytical distance that my former patients never could. This experience was, therefore, enlightening on two levels: experiencing some of the ‘disordered’ symptoms firsthand, while also sensing the position of the dividing line between an illness versus a short-term, controlled, goal-oriented plan. It reaffirmed my sense of my own psychological health, and (as a healthcare provider) deepened my understanding of anorexia as a true psychiatric disorder.
Because, long story short: I KNOW that I am done. I feel it clearly. And I am fascinated—and oddly proud—to realize that I objectively do not love everything about the way my body looks at this particular moment. I have loose, slack skin on my belly that I’ve never had before. None of my work pants fit. The lower halves of my quads are basically the same diameter as my knees—like a knobby-kneed preteen. With my hands on my hips, I feel bones. When the bathroom light hits me the right way, I can see every single one of my chest ribs. There’s a concave bony hollow at my xiphoid process that I’ve never seen before. My boobs are, for lack of a better word, deflated. My spandex workout shorts are legitimately baggy, and I’ve had to stop wearing the capris and tights entirely, because they’re falling off. With hollow holds at the gym, my posterior pelvic bones are meeting the floor. And I still (STILL) have barely any visible abs, no matter what tricks of lighting or flexing I employ. ;) Some of this is the ‘normal’ end-of-cut flatness (which will go away as carbohydrate/glycogen stores are replenished—in hindsight, the first time around, my post-cut maintenance photos definitely looked leaner, healthier, and more muscular than my end-of-cut ones). But the ability to look in the mirror, acknowledge that I have successfully wrought a major change in my physique, and then also genuinely feel that I have officially found the outer limit of ‘leanness’ in terms of the physical appearance that I desire for myself—well, that’s pretty damn empowering.
My official DEXA result this morning put me at 18.6% body fat—which comfortably beats my goal of sub-20% (and feels pretty incredible in light of my 34% BodPod result from this past May, which had me sobbing in my car from heartbroken frustration). However, on another level, given that my level of ‘health’ is firmly established (and was confirmed today, when the DEXA tech commented that my level of ‘visceral fat’ around the internal organs was one of the very lowest she’d ever seen), that number is also arbitrary. In a practical sense, it means nothing. It has zero bearing on how I feel inside this body or how I’m choosing to proceed from here. I still genuinely don’t want to be any leaner, for either performance or aesthetics. My body, mind, and metabolism have earned a long rest, and we’re going to be maintaining for a minimum of six months—after which I can reevaluate the idea of a muscle gain cycle, if I decide that makes sense for my athletic goals.
This also means that I’m not fearing maintenance this time around—not only because it’s familiar territory now, but because I would actually like to see myself fill out a little bit. The first time, I was so anxious about seeing the scale’s inevitable (appropriate) rise that I shoved it under the sink after my final weigh-in and didn’t look for six entire weeks. …At which point I was up by three damn pounds—precisely where I was supposed to be, without having used any numerical data to guide my behaviors. That was an eye-opening moment—to realize that my body had done exactly what it was supposed to do without any conscious help from me, and that I am not, in fact, exempt from the laws of science (because we all think we are, right?).
The ‘maintenance anxiety’ stemmed from the knowledge that I couldn’t ‘do anything about it’ if there were a major scale change or if I started to dislike the way my body looked. Cutting provides infinitely more control, not only because the rules are fixed, but because in that context, the scale is a tool; the fluctuations are telling you something, and you have the ability to use those numbers to make adjustments. Maintenance is much more passive—which is supposed to be relaxing, but, for many of us, the lack of control is anxiety-inducing.
Today, by contrast, when I got home after my DEXA, I made protein pancakes. And when there were a couple extra spoonfuls of leftover mix in the container—I just dumped them into the mixing bowl. Then I made a cup of coffee, and put a little spritz of whipped cream on top—just because I could. Because that’s the kind of thing you can do on maintenance.
I drank the coffee. I ate the pancakes. I smiled. And I moved on with my day.
Another of my biggest takeaways this time is how incredibly flexible our metabolisms are. There was a phrase in one of the RP blog posts at some point that I’m sure I’m going to misquote, but it was describing the goal of maintenance as ‘encouraging your body to accept the largest possible amount of food on a consistent basis’ without gaining weight. I really liked that wording, and the associated understanding of our bodies’ chemical processes as adaptable and intelligent. And during this cut, I felt the truth of that statement; after my quick Christmas trip home, once I got back on template / back into a hypocaloric state, I realized that my hunger levels had increased a lot—which is a sign of a healthy metabolism, ramping up in response to receiving more food. This is why most of us are able to maintain reasonably close to our end-of-cut weights—because adding 100-200 calories here or there is (fortunately!) not a mathematically linear process that results in pure weight gain. Granted, promptly being hungry again 15 minutes after finishing each template meal doesn’t make for a terribly pleasant day on cut—but I enjoyed the quiet insight as to what my body was up to, and I’m actually looking forward to feeling my appetite surge back over the coming days and weeks as I figure out what a sustainable maintenance is going to look like for me.
Mentally, I am feeling ‘ready’ without being ‘desperate’. These past 2-3 weeks have been more of a struggle in terms of feeling mentally ‘blah’ and just trying to put one foot in front of the other—but it has truly not been difficult to stay compliant. I have not craved off-template foods. I’ve felt more cold and cranky and weak than traditionally ‘hungry’.
But, physically, my body also ‘feels done’ cutting. I can understand why we are supposed to go to maintenance when we get injured. My back ‘tweak’ around the midpoint of this cut was (fortunately) not severe and doesn’t come into play with gymnastics movements (which have been my primary focus), so, with the help of a fantastic PT and some programming modifications from my CF coach, I’ve been able to keep progressing with a minimum of disruption to my routine. There has been tremendous improvement in the pain. However, it’s not entirely better, and the nagging discomfort—which moves around, bothering me in different places to different degrees on different days—is annoying, so I’m curious (and hopeful) as to the effect that proper fueling may have on recovery.
I’m not going to faceplant into a box of donuts—but I am eager for the next phase. Eager to truly internalize my maintenance macros as my base (rather than the Cut 1 tab feeling like my instinctive ‘base’, which is how it’s been for the past year). Eager to see what the scale and the shape of my body and the fit of my clothes will naturally do now that I have the resources and the wherewithal to passively track those changes. And eager to ‘feel strong’ in the gym again—and see what this smaller body can do when it’s got a bit more fuel on board.
…Like, maybe even a muscle-up. :)