plork
It’s not been a great week. Except that it’s been a pretty good week. I’ve been productive with writing, I’ve been going out, I’ve been feeling good, this kind of happy! Happy! I think I’ll go for a walk! kind of not-dead yet mood, and things have been generally all-around okay, except that I don’t fit into any of my Fat Clothes, the big-girl clothes which should have been stuffed into the back of a closet somewhere and never needed not ever again, and my eating has been out of control.
I eat before I go out to eat, and I eat again when I come home from eating, and it is mindless and weird. I keep telling myself I will get a handle on this weirdness, this bad and ungood pattern which isn’t even a pattern, just a huge undifferentiated violent splotch of lousiness.
It’s been easy to not think about. Easy to not consider what I’ve been putting in my mouth and to not think about how long it’s been since me and the gym have been close and personal bosom buddies full of love and admiration. It’s really easy to have Oreos for dinner.
I like Oreos for dinner.
And that’s the problem. If it weren’t for the way I stand in my closet for fifteen minutes every morning, sort of staring blankly at my clothes, thinking “too small, too small, too short, too short and small, too short, small and stained, too short and stained, too short, too small and with a rip” and, you know, etcetera, I would never think again about fitness or healthiness or my body. I would float along on this undifferentiated sea of plorkiness, bob bob bobbing because you know how fat floats. I am the floatiest in the whole, wide world. Bob.
Today I went to the gym, mostly because I wanted to take a shower, to tell you the truth. But the price of a shower was sweating. So I went in, and I sat on the recumbent bike because I couldn’t make myself go on the elliptical, and then twenty minutes of peddling made me very tired.
At the end of every minute, I had to trick myself into another minute, and then another and another and that is the only way I made it through that twenty minutes. Because I am dumb enough to believe myself when I say “after this minute, you can totally stop. No, really! I swear!” and I go “okay! Yay! Ohdy ohdy oh!” peddlepeddlepeddle along until finally I can no longer take the lies, the terrible, terrible lies full of hate.
But it’s a start. And even if my relationship with the gym is born in lies and nurtured with the milk of deceit and weaned with the formula of deception, I will make it work. Even if that means going grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping almost as much as I hate cooking.
Today I poked around the internet and found meal plans that might give me the structure I so desperately crave. Tomorrow I will print them out. The day after that, I will beat my head against the desk until I bleed from my ears and I sever my tongue with my own back teeth, because I am so goddamn tired of baby steps, always baby steps. Where is my fucking rocket car? What happened to all this living in the future shit we’ve been doing?
And one of these days, I will make a goal. Just one little concrete goal.
I eat before I go out to eat, and I eat again when I come home from eating, and it is mindless and weird. I keep telling myself I will get a handle on this weirdness, this bad and ungood pattern which isn’t even a pattern, just a huge undifferentiated violent splotch of lousiness.
It’s been easy to not think about. Easy to not consider what I’ve been putting in my mouth and to not think about how long it’s been since me and the gym have been close and personal bosom buddies full of love and admiration. It’s really easy to have Oreos for dinner.
I like Oreos for dinner.
And that’s the problem. If it weren’t for the way I stand in my closet for fifteen minutes every morning, sort of staring blankly at my clothes, thinking “too small, too small, too short, too short and small, too short, small and stained, too short and stained, too short, too small and with a rip” and, you know, etcetera, I would never think again about fitness or healthiness or my body. I would float along on this undifferentiated sea of plorkiness, bob bob bobbing because you know how fat floats. I am the floatiest in the whole, wide world. Bob.
Today I went to the gym, mostly because I wanted to take a shower, to tell you the truth. But the price of a shower was sweating. So I went in, and I sat on the recumbent bike because I couldn’t make myself go on the elliptical, and then twenty minutes of peddling made me very tired.
At the end of every minute, I had to trick myself into another minute, and then another and another and that is the only way I made it through that twenty minutes. Because I am dumb enough to believe myself when I say “after this minute, you can totally stop. No, really! I swear!” and I go “okay! Yay! Ohdy ohdy oh!” peddlepeddlepeddle along until finally I can no longer take the lies, the terrible, terrible lies full of hate.
But it’s a start. And even if my relationship with the gym is born in lies and nurtured with the milk of deceit and weaned with the formula of deception, I will make it work. Even if that means going grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping almost as much as I hate cooking.
Today I poked around the internet and found meal plans that might give me the structure I so desperately crave. Tomorrow I will print them out. The day after that, I will beat my head against the desk until I bleed from my ears and I sever my tongue with my own back teeth, because I am so goddamn tired of baby steps, always baby steps. Where is my fucking rocket car? What happened to all this living in the future shit we’ve been doing?
And one of these days, I will make a goal. Just one little concrete goal.
This entry was posted by anne, on
Tuesday, February 22, 2005.
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Awwww, Anne. The printing out of the meal plans is an excellent step. I find structure is crucial. Absolutely. To that end, I joined Weight Watchers for the first couple months of my whatchamacallit journey thingy. Because even though I thought I knew a lot about healthy food, I obviously didn't because...well...not a size 8, you know? So anyhow. I joined up online, read their stuff, did Core for a while, and then, soon enough, didn't need it anymore. Found that I internalised it in a fairly healthy way. Now, I LOVE to grocery shop and cook, which definitely helped, but if it's structure you're after, that might be a way to go.
Also? The thing about baby steps is that they all smush together before too long, and then you're off and running. You can do this, you can.
Dude, I soooo relate to what you are saying. I remember stretches of time when all I did was eat and eat and eat and if not for thoughts about my health or my size, I would totally keep going. You are not alone!
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