To struggle suggests a battle of two opposing elements. These elements--sometimes equally matched--are adversaries pitted against each other physically or mentally or emotionally (or a molotov cocktail of all three). Neither adversary willing to concede to defeat; both exerting extensive energy to victory.
In my life I have experienced struggle against stress, against procrastination, against depression, against financial instability, against ennui, against single-motherhood (and the stereotypes associated with it)--against the multitude of daily labors faced by people of all races and genders working to live the they imagine. I have not always welcomed these struggles--who wouldn't prefer, at times, a struggle-free existence--but I have met the struggles with the best of my resolve and might, and whether defeated or victorious, I have come away stronger and wiser. After all, isn't that the objective of struggle--personal betterment?
However, among all of the struggles I have confronted in my life, I cannot honestly list my weight as one. I am familiar with my weight. We share the same space (and the same pants) but we have, up to this point, done so in relative silence. It mocks me occasionally, scoffs me sporadically, needles me frequently. In response, I imbibe in sweet or salty delights. No confrontation. No battle. No struggle of note. Just me and my weight, living in coefficient delusions of harmony.
As I ended 2013, measuring my accomplishments and losses, and looked forward to 2014, anticipating its accomplishments and losses, my sights moved beyond the standard 365 days of the year ahead. Instead, I tallied the days laying between me and my next life milestone--my 40th birthday.
And without hesitation I resolved that during the 400 days between now and that milestone, I will struggle against my weight. It may mock and scoff and needle me as it wills. I will sweat and stretch and stonewall it into submission.
I will struggle. And it will be worth it.