I always thought that was just cliché way to excuse poor performance, but today I realized that when framed properly it is a very powerful tool.
See, I'm really feeling all these years of neglect and abuse. I feel tired and weak. I could just tell myself that I am those things and that would be ample excuse to just not do anything. But instead, I got up early, turned on all the lights, unrolled my mat and did a workout. Did I give it 100%? No. But I did what was in my capacity to do, and that's something. I have been getting really frustrated with myself over the last couple of months. Monday rolls around and I start a workout routine and I'm faced with my limitation. These same workouts that I used to blast through were now presenting me with heretofore unrealized challenges. I didn't have the same 'stuff' that I had back when and it was discouraging. I got into some really weird headspace where I was becoming convinced that there was something permanently wrong with me. As if this newfound weakness and fatigue was my new normal. Maybe it was the result of a past medical intervention. Maybe it was something degenerative and I was stuck with it. Far be it from me to look in the mirror and recognize that it's because I've been sitting behind a desk all day for a year and a half, and spending the entirety of the rest of my time reclining on the couch, spacing out on YouTube. Maybe it's because I've been almost force-feeding myself every piece of comfort and junk food I could imagine as if it were the last thing I was going to eat ever.
You just gotta get honest with yourself.
I weighed 155 right around the turn of the century. I steadily put on weight until I hit 220 in 2009. I pulled it back to 170 that year. I really don't remember how I got there but in 2018 I hit a record peak above 260. I managed to get that down to under 215. Now I 'm back to almost peak weight. I't not that I want to be an extra wide large body. It's just that it's just easier. What is it they say? Comfort killed the cat, or some such thing? What ever it is, that's what it is. It's just easier to be fat. Well, for a while at least. Right up to the point where you can't tie your shoes without holding your breath. My shoes keep coming untied.
When your brain works the way mine does, it makes doing absolutely everything way more difficult than it needs to be. Doing the simplest things is an exercise in futility. And God forbid I can't do something to absolute perfection. Why bother at all? So I missed a work out or compromised on a meal? Well I guess that means I blew it all to hell and there's no point in continuing. Might as well just go all the way off the deep end until I can gather the headspace for another Monday. It's this unending cycle of frustration, disappointment, depression and self medication. I wish I could operate like "normal" people. I'm working on it.
So for now, I'm doing everything I can to celebrate the small things. I got a work out in. I didn't eat take out junk food. OK, so maybe I gave in a little and snuck in an unauthorized snack. Big deal. It wasn't a Big Mac. Even as I'm sitting here typing this, as the aromas from the In N Out across the street are wafting through my office, and I'm thinking about nothing but hamburgers and burritos, I'm thinking about the last three days and just how much better it felt to have had a 25 minute workout and munched on some chicken and vegetables than to fell disgusted with my bloated self after a double western.
Tomorrow is 4th of July and we're hosting. People are bringing really super delicious food to share. And I'm gonna have some. And I'm not going to beat myself up about it and I'm not going to go off the rails because of it. I'm just going to keep doing one thing. and then another one thing until my days are filled with doing the things that are moving me closer to being whole.
No comments:
Post a Comment