Pillowcase print for Xmas?
This is one that I’ll be printing for my wall. And probably forwarding to my mother for good measure.
This morning I was
forced gently guided to the gym where I got my glorious sweat on. It was as glamorous as it sounds… but damn I felt good afterwards.
Well, the endorphins did.
Right now I just feel like I fell off the horse. At speed. Down a bank.
It. Is. Great.
Tonight, I’ve crawled out from under my duvet to bare my heart, soul, and cellulite (metaphorically speaking).
I have an email from WordPress in my inbox telling me that my domain name is coming up for renewal and, do I want to renew it?
I don’t know.
I have until mid-Jan to decide.
I haven’t posted on here in a long time. In over two months, which is ridiculous.
Sure, I’ve thought about it. But never actually wrote anything. Because it’s felt like I haven’t actually done anything.
This reminder has prompted me to at least put those thoughts into writing. Even if I don’t continue with the blog. I’ve always found some benefit in committing my thoughts to writing – regardless of whether I even read them again.
Today, 16 December 2014 – only 9 days out from Christmas – I am the biggest I’ve been in over two years. And I hate it.
This morning, I stepped on the scales at 77kg.
My heaviest weight (on record) was 82kg, though… I did just stop checking the scales at that point.
The last time I was this weight I was genuinely unhappy with my lot. I was living with a guy who was suffocating and manipulative – a truly unhealthy relationship that I did not see for what it was until the end, and even then, not for a long time after.
Now, I’m seeing an awesome guy who – while frustrating at times (because, who isn’t?) – is encouraging and supportive. The kind of guy you wanna take home because you know he’ll get Mum and Dad’s seal of approval.
It couldn’t be more different now, but sometimes there’s a quiet, nagging voice in the back of my head that asks if this is the same thing all over again.
The rational me tell the nagging voice to sod off, but the thing about the sub-conscious is that it lingers. So I eat. Lots.
The real problem is my relationship with food – and the gym.
I’ve always joked that it would be too easy for me to become an alcoholic. A terrible ‘joke’ because it’s a disease that shouldn’t be laughed at. But it was more a recognition that I have this addictive streak that quickly overwhelms me.
The reality is, I’m addicted to sugar. My body is existing on cr*p food because that is what I shovel into it day in and day out. It’s fuel, but it isn’t food. It’s definitely not the right fuel for the job.
Tonight I chowed through an entire packet of mallowpuffs. You know, the packets that should take a family a couple of days to get through – I ate one in an hour. Because I finished work and that’s all my body wanted to do. I found myself on auto-pilot to the supermarket biscuit aisle when I should have been walking to the gym. I had all my gear there with me – I’d packed it all especially. But I just toted it into the supermarket with me, and straight back home so I could get my sugar fix.
This happens all the time.
And, I know I can cut out the sugar – I’ve done it before! But right now, in this moment, the concept is incomprehensible. It doesn’t feel like that was me. I feel so removed from that. The positivity in the other posts on this blog – I don’t remember those feelings. I know I wrote them. But I don’t remember the feelings that would serve as some nice, positive reinforcement right about now.
My abs hurt all the time. Not from the gym, but from the constant bloating.
Logically, I know it’s my diet (and lack of exercise!) but there’s a mental brick wall between the ‘knowing’ and the ‘doing’. I suspect this is how smokers feel when they’re bombarded with anti-smoking advertising… you know its wrong, but you just can’t stop.
It’s been a loooooong time since I’ve gone to the gym in any consistent pattern. It used to be that I’d get there at least a couple of times, because I had personal training once a week and just going once was ‘stupid’.
My trainer dumped me.
The day we were meant to be having our session.
After rescheduling on me 3 times in as many days the week before.
I suspect I have a bit of a sub-conscious “eff-ewe” reaction going on there, which doesn’t help.
So where does that leave me now?
Honestly, I don’t know.
What can I do?
I know what I should do.
I know that I have done it before.
But, how do I get the motivation back? How do I find my mojo?
Because, at the moment, I just think about my legs in my gym pants and I want to go cry in bed with a block of chocolate and bottle of ginger beer.
Tonight I posted my 100th #100happydays photo to Instagram. It wasn’t a well thought out photo. It wasn’t posed for. There was no planning, staging or even smiling. It’s a terrible photo. Taken while walking out of the gym, in poor lighting, on my phone.
It was a screenshot of a snapchat I’d sent to a few friends on my way home:
See – terrible.
But I’m so proud, it’s not funny. Proud of the photo. Proud of the PB. Proud that I got through the whole 100 days. I started something and I finished it!
And it’s the boost I needed to get back on track.
There is a fire under my butt now, and Im going to make the most of it.
I have my regular PT session tomorrow, an RPM (spin) class booked for Thursday, and another one in mind for Saturday morning.
Curbing my eating is going to be the hard part – eventually I want to be back eating sugar-free, but Im taking baby steps to get back there. No cold turkey, or I’ll never get there. It helps that one of my new colleagues is doing the plan at the moment – company in (the initial) misery!
So here’s to a better July!