Thursday, September 24, 2009

Day Thirty-Nine, and what it was like.

Well, I woke up and decided that, being it was a new day and all, to let the past be the past and to not have a foodie/binge-y hangover and feel the funk any more than I had to.  So I went to the Y this morning and dropped Andrew off in Child Watch so I could work out.  And I did it me-style.  Let me 'splain....

I went to run, since it is an Aerobics Solution day.  I got all set on the treadmill, popped Pearl in my ears, and started chugging away.  I had propped my BFL journal up on the little crap ledge thingy that all treadmills have, and tried to use it like I normally do, to keep track of what speed I need to go at what time.  It proved to be too much book on too small of a display screen, so I shut the book and only opened it when I needed to.  Then I dropped it and caught it in mid-air, only to have knocked off the emergency magnet thingy that is supposed to save me from being launched across the room in case I fall.  I had to smile to myself...ha ha, how cute, I messed up and have to re-enter my speed, my course, my weight, my horoscope, my second grade teacher's favorite color, and on and on.  So I did it and started running again.  Trying to remember how much I had run before so I could see if I could make it past the mile-and-a-half mark I've been logging in previous runs.  Then I knocked the little frackin' magnet off AGAIN!  This time the funk roared out of me and I full-fledged gave my treadmill the very obvious finger.  Mature, right?  What does that rate me, middle school or high school level maturity?  Mind you, I'm at the YMCA, the Young Men's Christian Association.  And that little gesture wasn't like saying "peace be unto you."  It's more like saying, "help, I need meds."

I finished my run...have no clue how far I went, and decided to break the rules.  I went into the weight area.  This area scares me.  There are machines here that look like they could double for the iron maiden during the Spanish Inquisition (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!).  There are big ole dumb bells, and there are people working out with barbells and stuff.  People who look like they know what they're doing, and will probably laugh me out of there once I start heaving weights around.  But the funk will not be denied.  I march in there, blaring ABBA in my Pearl (dork alert), and start lifting weights for the missed Upper Body Workout I didn't do yesterday.  And I do the whole thing. 

I have some funny observations from my time in the weight area.  First, all weights smell funny.  I thought it was just mine at home (they smell like kerosone, even after I washed them).  Must be some kind of rule.  Secondly, I lift heavier weights than ever before when I'm in public.  Because, you know, everyone is looking at me.  No one could possibly be there to work out and focus only on themselves.  Shuh.  I mean, I even caught myself in the 412 mirrors in the weight area, doing bench dips and trying to set my jawline like I was a bad-ass.  I am such a poser!  I just have to laugh at myself.  Apparently my maturity level is still below average, but I kinda already knew that.

Today I got to thinking about the moment in my life regarding food that spurred me into taking action, and into doing Body-for-LIFE.  I was cranky, upset, very resentful in general, and feeling like a member of the Donner party, except with cabin fever thrown in.  I had driven to the nearby gas station to get "bad food."  I was wearing pajamas basically, really baggy pants and a horrible looking T-shirt.  My hair was all over the place, and I was very big and obviously very unhappy.  Plus, I had my brain on auto-loop, constantly berating myself over my appearance and what I was eating, especially when I was eating the "bad food."  "What are you doing, fatty?" my brain would hiss at me.  "Don't you know everyone can see how fat you are and is thinking that?"  Literally, that is how mean my mind is to me when I get to feeling low. 

So I grabbed king size candy bars, chips, sodas, fruit candy, and more stuff.  Then is where it felt more painful than it ever has before.  That slow shuffle to the counter, where I'm trying to walk as if I have confidence in myself and don't care about the 1400 calories worth of crap I have in my arms.  I think about pretending I am getting all of this for a group of people, not just for myself.  Maybe I could tell him I'm getting these snacks for friends at home who are going to watch a movie with me?  I remember distinctly thinking that.  I set the food down, and this painful lump in my throat was just killing me.  I knew this wasn't working, that this was not good for me, but I felt like I just had to have this stuff.  That it was all the enjoyment I had left at that point.  And a still, quiet voice (my own voice, too) said to me,

 "You know that you don't have to do this if you don't want to." 

I went through the motions after that.  I paid the cashier, lugged home the crap, and proceeded to eat it, but my little routine was spoiled.  I could still hear that little voice and I knew it was speaking the truth.  I didn't have to live like that, not if I didn't want to.  And I didn't want to any more.  I think a few days later or so the idea for BFL came to me, and I started this blog.  I am so very grateful that voice spoke to me when it did, when I felt so embarrassed and hideous about myself.  I know that voice was more than just myself, but a glimpse into what I could be, if I just would put down the self-sabotaging behavior.  I've heard that voice before, and it has always helped me.  And I know that voice comes from the God of my understanding, and I am so glad for my relationship with Him.  I know that God, and God-talk doesn't float a lot of people's boats, and if that guy doesn't figure into your life, that's cool, it's totally your business.  I'm only relating what happened to me that caused me to try to change what I did so I can have a better life. 

I slip up with that stuff from time to time (hey, see last night's post!), but I always try and usually succeed at getting back on the wagon again.  I do that because I do not ever want to do that shuffle to the counter at the gas station.  Ever again.  Good night, and see you tomorrow.

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