This has been on my mind for days and days and I haven’t been able to put it into words. I keep noticing that I’m angry without having an obvious reason. This is the reason: my own lack of motion.
The scale is stuck. Actually, that’s not an accurate statement. The number on the scale is not moving…because I am not moving. There is no one to blame but me.
I recently had a conversation with a fitness writer whom I really respect. I was absolutely infuriated by the lack of quality, reliable information out there for obese people when it comes to any kind of resistance training. She confirmed for me that cardio is the best thing I can do to take off the pounds (which I knew, I just needed to hear it again…because sometimes I get all wrapped up in unimportant details). I walked away from the conversation knowing what I needed to do, but not doing it. Again.
Overall, my feelings are of outrage and frustration…at myself. It’s April. I truly thought I would be farther along in my efforts to make exercise a habit by now. It’s 4 months into the year and all I have to show for it is a longer list of what doesn’t work for me.
Training for the 5K in May? Not motivating me. (Don’t worry, I’m still doing it…so if you’re signed up, you’re still stuck with me!)
Zumba or other group fitness classes? Doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. I’m already pissed off that I have to exercise, I don’t want to be around happy people – or worse, the kind who shriek and make “yippy!” noises while they exercise. I really hate that shit.
Watching tv or reading on the treadmill? I can’t focus and I actually can’t breathe right. I’m all uneven and funky. I need to walk to music or silence. But hey…at least that’s one thing I know I like, right? Out of all this negativity…at least there’s that.
And that’s what’s getting me: the negativity. And the self-loathing. And the absolute spoiled brat mentality that seems to be hard-wired into my DNA.
Do you know what I did today? I woke up early, ready to start the day and get some serious shit done…and I ended up sitting on the couch all day. Reading. Watching tv. Snuggling the dog. Talking to the hubby. Actually, my day looked more like this:
Made breakfast.
Watched news, channel surfed.
Started a load of laundry.
Realized I recorded “Prometheus” on cable the other day & hadn’t watched it.
Watched it, then resisted the urge to fly to California and kick the producer in the crotch. (As my mother would say, it was dryer than a cat’s ass!)
Started sorting out the crap on the coffee table.
Thought about putting my shoes on and walking The Path. Didn’t.
Watched more tv.
Read my Kindle.
Snuggled with Kirby. Snuggled with Dyson.
Greeted hubby when he woke up. Thought about getting on the treadmill. Didn’t.
Thought about cleaning the laundry room. Didn’t.
Played a computer game for an hour.
Chatted with hubby. Thought about going for a walk again. Didn’t.
Felt guilty about it.
You get the idea, right?
I think about working out, but I don’t. I’m so overwhelmed by everything I have to do in my life…and so I do nothing. I preach to the world that you have to take things as you can handle them…slowly & deliberately…and yet here I sit: paralyzed.
I’m physically neglecting myself more, not less. As if not moving wasn’t bad enough, there’s still make-up on my face when my head hits the pillow most nights. I don’t wash my face or take care of my skin. Not necessarily because I’m too busy, but because I’m angry at myself and I don’t care. I’m not drinking enough water. The skin on my shins looks like the Sahara after a 100 year drought. When I get up in the morning, I pass my bathroom scale and feel a horrible sense of dread. The number isn’t going down. Why? Because I’m not moving. It will move when I move. And still I sit here…not moving.
I just re-read all of this and it sounds so very depressing…and whiny. I want to cheer it up for all of you who are good enough to read my blog, email me, and support me every day. I feel like I shouldn’t be where I am – which is wrong, because we’re all where we are and there is no right or wrong. And I just said I was wrong in the same sentence where I said there is no right or wrong. It’s quite possible that I’m going insane.
All of this is true – but it’s also true that the 7 Dwarfs of the Menstrual Apocalypse are getting closer every day and I’m extremely emotional/hormonal/fantastically pissy right now. I’m sure this all seems much worse to me than it really is if I think about it logically…if I just strip it back down to what I know and what is true.
Here’s what I know and what is true:
I haven’t quit. I feel like I’m on the verge of a nasty backslide if I don’t move my ass – but that’s only true if I let it happen. I am not a quitter. I may take a lot longer than the average girl to get my shit figured out, but I’m not a quitter. I don’t like myself right now – which is distressing when I consider how many years I spent in therapy just learning how to like myself. I know I need to dumb it down for myself again. I know I need to make myself move more and that I need to make it the highest priority before anything else. Every day.
And so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk. I’m going to get up from my desk and move more at work. I’m going to dance around the house. Joyously. And when I hear myself get negative and I start talking smack to myself, I’m going to tell myself to shut it.
Every damn day.
I refuse to look back one day and see that the only person who failed me…was me.
What demons have you faced down and lived through? Share your stories with me now…I need to hear from my peeps.
She rang me up without further insult, but her employee sensed the tension and started flipping through the returns rack and presenting me with every hideous top in my size she could find. I wanted to retort “Thanks, but I prefer not to dress like a member of the Golden Girls!”
