doubts, apace
So it turns out that working out? Makes you really fucking hungry. RAAR! kind of hungry. GIVE FOOD OR BITE HAND OFF! kind of hungry. I EAT YOUR FACE kind of hungry. Really hungry. Which makes sense, scientifically. Look at me, being scientific! Now I will say something smart about energy expenditure and calories and things! Hooray!
So yes. I exercised five days last week, all five of the days I was shooting for. I promised myself I could just do two, and three would be bonus, and four would be a gold star, and five means I can get a haircut. I can get a haircut! Today's the day I treat myself to that haircut, and so far every single person I've run into, so far, has told me how cute my hair looks today. Because that is always the fucking way.
But cute is as cute does. Anyway.
This is usually the time I am leaping into the air and congratulating myself on my coolness and my awesomeness, and rhapsodizing in long sentences about how this is the way things are meant to be, this is the way things will always be, how I cannot imagine anything will ever change, because I have found The Way, I have stumbled on The Truth, hallelujah, what's that over there in the corner? It's The Light! Come to Jesus.
Except my doubts continue apace - this time I am still feeling a little more war-torn than other times, and a little more realistic about my chances of ever being a size [insert tiny size here] or being fit or even being healthy.
I am trying to remember that it feels amazing to be in charge of something in my life. I can't control my myriad of mental problems, I can't control my shitty finances, I can't control the crappy way of the world, or control the emotional troubles of people I love, or control my goddamn cat who keeps waking me up at five in the morning with a claw in my face, but by god, I can slap on a pair of sneakers and I can fucking wheeze on a fucking treadmill, and then worry about catching Creeping Foot Doom from the locker room floor. Which is very satisfying. The control part, I mean.
So yes. I exercised five days last week, all five of the days I was shooting for. I promised myself I could just do two, and three would be bonus, and four would be a gold star, and five means I can get a haircut. I can get a haircut! Today's the day I treat myself to that haircut, and so far every single person I've run into, so far, has told me how cute my hair looks today. Because that is always the fucking way.
But cute is as cute does. Anyway.
This is usually the time I am leaping into the air and congratulating myself on my coolness and my awesomeness, and rhapsodizing in long sentences about how this is the way things are meant to be, this is the way things will always be, how I cannot imagine anything will ever change, because I have found The Way, I have stumbled on The Truth, hallelujah, what's that over there in the corner? It's The Light! Come to Jesus.
Except my doubts continue apace - this time I am still feeling a little more war-torn than other times, and a little more realistic about my chances of ever being a size [insert tiny size here] or being fit or even being healthy.
I am trying to remember that it feels amazing to be in charge of something in my life. I can't control my myriad of mental problems, I can't control my shitty finances, I can't control the crappy way of the world, or control the emotional troubles of people I love, or control my goddamn cat who keeps waking me up at five in the morning with a claw in my face, but by god, I can slap on a pair of sneakers and I can fucking wheeze on a fucking treadmill, and then worry about catching Creeping Foot Doom from the locker room floor. Which is very satisfying. The control part, I mean.
This entry was posted by anne, on
Tuesday, November 16, 2004.
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You just keep on keeping on because, no matter the doubts or frustrations, it's way better than the option.
Thank you, BTW, for your kind comments on my site today - it's nice to know that there's someone else out there that understands the fear.
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