It’s been…a year and a half. I moved this blog over to LiveJournal and kept up with it for a few months and then it just fell by the wayside.
I haven’t given up exercising, as I’ve been doing it pretty much twice a week with my trainer. I haven’t given up eating well, even though I don’t do it as much as I should.
The most important thing that’s changed in the last year and a half has been my mental state. Without going into too much detail, I’ve been dealing with depression for about ten years or so. I never really thought it was as disabling as it really was…but I really had no life and no desire to change that. Imagine sitting around in your house all the time…isolated, alone, listening to the cyclical negative self talk in your head, wondering why in the hell you can’t stick with something and see it through…that was my life. No wonder I gained so much weight during those years. I hated myself and I hated myself for not being able to change it. Granted, I did try lots of things…therapy, counseling, religion, exercising…and they all worked for a time, but I was just unable to do my part so they never worked.
About six months ago I was getting into some hot water at work regarding my attendance and performance, and I realized that I couldn’t afford to being going up and down like I was. My doctor prescribed a very lose dose of antidepressants and my life literally changed. I resisted taking meds because I didn’t want a false sense of happiness or no feelings at all…I wanted to feel more than just self-loathing and deep sadness. So, I started taking them, and my outlook on life started to change. After awhile, I noticed that those negative voices in my head were so quiet that I didn’t need to drown them out with television or music or food…I noticed that I actually wanted to go out with friends…I noticed that I said “yes” more often to new things…I noticed that I was beginning to make that connection between thinking and action.
Needless to say, since exercise and fitness is 90% mental exertion, I noticed that my workouts became better and I was trying harder and focusing more. I no longer felt like I was pulling teeth trying to get myself to work…and I started to really crave the workouts. However, I also recognized that when I wasn’t working out with my trainer, I wasn’t working out. This was a problem, but I didn’t think much about it. My trainer was my foundation, why should I leave something that important to me?
About a month ago, I started therapy. It’s kind of an unconventional kind of therapy that I won’t really go into here, but it’s been really, really helpful in getting me off my ass and working on fixing some things in my life that are severely broken. My finances, for one, are in shambles and I’m not in a position to do much of anything that I really want to do…like buy a car, go on trips, etc. So, my therapist, S, started helping me get it together, and he strongly suggested that I cut my trainer to save money. I agreed to do it for a month or two just to get my head above water, but I knew I’d need her eventually.
Then I started thinking about it. What if I didn’t need her at all? What if I was using her to avoid taking responsibility for my own health? I mean…when I was with her, I didn’t really need to be thinking about what I was doing aside from good form. Wasn’t the whole point of hiring her to learn from her and then eventually go out on my own? R and I talked about it, and when she said the same thing…I knew that I probably wouldn’t hire her back…that I would be doing this on my own. She will still be my cheerleader, and she’s an awesome one, and she will still be my friend…but she taught me well, and now it’s my turn. It’s my body, and I have complete control and freedom over what I do with it. I need to claim that.
So, after a week of not doing much beyond a few walks here and there…I finally decided that if I didn’t force myself to do a workout, I’d never do it. So, I decided that Saturday (this past Saturday) I’d go out on my own at 7.30 am like R and I would always do, and kick my own ass. I didn’t have much of a plan, but I knew that I needed to do some strength training and that I wanted to tackle Couch to 5K again
Saturday morning came. The night before I had planned to sabotage myself by not setting my alarm. Whoooops. No matter, I naturally woke up at 7 a.m. Figures, right? I laid there, staring at my clock, snuggled under my down comforter with one cat at my feet and the other on my chest and I very seriously contemplated just not doing it and getting more sleep. Something in me, however, blew a whistle and said NO. If you don’t do this now, you will feel like you’ve failed yourself. You have the control and freedom to get out there and give it your best shot. You’ll be so proud of yourself if you do. Don’t you want to change things? Don’t you want to get out there and LIVE?
I actually listened to the voice, got up, put my workout uniform on, got some water, downloaded a podcast for my jog…and headed outside. I live next to a school with a huge field. I figured that I could some exercises there, and then just jog around the field. That way I don’t have far to go. With Madonna’s Confessions on the Dancefloor pumping away in my ears, I did a long warm up walk around the huge block that the school is on, and then came back where I noticed a set of metal stairs. Perfect for climbing! So I went up and down about five times. Yeah…my butt and legs felt that one.
At that point, my old friend, Arch Pain, came by…and my feet started to hurt really bad. Whenever I do lunges, stair steps, anything where I stomp my feet in any capacity, my feet protest LOUDLY. Still, I pushed on and did those lunges, ten for each foot. Then I did twelve pushups using a wire cage protecting a water pump nearby, and followed with about fifteen squats. I shook out my feet, tried stretching them (bring tears to my eyes), and did that circuit again. It was very hard, there was good pain…but there was the bad pain in my feet. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do my interval run. I started walking around to stretch my feet again, and immediately the foot pain eased up and went away. But as soon as I stopped and stood, the pain was back.
So.
I turned on my Week 1 podcast for C25K and started in. No foot pain. I did the first sixty seconds of jogging, and I expected my feet and shins to tighten up like they usually did…but it never came. Ninety seconds walking. It was cold out, felt good. Jog. Walk. Jog. Walk. By the time the fourth set came and went, I was kind of freaked out in a good way that I was feeling really good about this. I was pacing myself, controlling my breathing, had great form, remembering everything my trainer had told me. The sixth set came by and I started to grin…I knew that I was going to finish it. Yes, I was tired, my legs were tired, but not enough to stop. The FINAL set came and went…and I was done. I finished. No unusual bad pain…just super high. I laughed to myself, and smiled the entire cool down and back home. I did my stretching, ate a high protein breakfast, showered…and I just couldn’t believe that I actually did it.
So…with one victory under my belt, I’ve been thinking ahead about what to do for the next workout (which just happens to be tomorrow morning). I’ve been looking up various body weight exercises to do, and thinking about getting some resistance bands. Maybe I could focus on one section of my body per session…upper body on Saturdays, lower body on Mondays, core on Wednesdays. I’m excited for this…and convinced that I can do it. There is no reason NOT to.
And, of course, now that I’m excited about working out again…my thoughts turn to a dream goal. Doing a triathalon. No…not “when I’m thin” but when I’m ready. Depending on when I get a bike and decide that I can sacrifice having awesomely dyed hair so I can swim. We’ll see. 
Tomorrow morning I’m planning doing the same things as Saturday, except adding one more round to my circuit.
