I’m not who I imagined I’d be when I grew up. In all honesty, I never really had a clear vision for my future, but I knew I wanted to do something creative. I have a fairly decent command of the language, so I figured maybe I’d be a writer. A writer of what? Books, short stories, screenplays, songs, I dunno (I’ve dabbled in all of them, with zero success). I also wanted to act, and did quite a bit of it in high school (I was voted “Best Actor” by my class, so I guess I wasn’t too terrible), but I pretty much lost interest after graduation. I wanted to make movies (I did make a few short films, and I still plan to make an independent feature film at some point).
I guess I’m a dabbler. I’ve never been able to commit to a singular goal and see it through. I imagine it’s a chronic fear of failure, coupled with a rampant inferiority complex. So I dabble. And I go nowhere. I achieve nothing. But that’s not what this blog entry is about. It’s about who I am physically, and it’s damned hard to write. I never imagined that I’d be fat and unhealthy.
Truth be told, I’ve never been skinny. Well, I was a pretty skinny kid (I started getting a bit pudgy in high school). I slowly gained weight over the fifteen-odd years following graduation, and then I’ve gained a lot more in the past five years. In all brutal honesty, I’ve never even tried to take care of myself. I eat whatever I want, however much I want, with little regard for the eventual consequence. It was different when I was young. I could abuse the hell out of my body and it didn’t seem to mind. These days, as I approach forty years old, it’s a very different story. I’m heavier now than I’ve ever been. I feel like crap much of the time. I don’t sleep well. I actually have trouble tying my shoes, or climbing lots of stairs. I am severely out of shape, and I look awful. My back hurts. My feet hurt.
I don’t want to be this person I’ve become. I don’t want to die young, but I fear I will. I fear that even admitting these things publicly won’t be enough to break me out of this cycle. I feel silly, like I’m auditioning for The Biggest Loser or something.
A cursory look over my last two years of blogging tells the tale. I almost always write about food. Food has somehow become central to my life. I think about it, I write about it. I sit passively, fork in hand, while it completely enslaves me and drags me to an early grave.
I have no illusions about what the solution entails. There is no special diet, no magic pill. I need to eat smarter (and less!), and become more active. It will suck. I will hate it. I will rage against my own cravings, and likely succumb to them at times.
I’ve already started (sort of). I gave up caffeine two weeks ago. I’m drinking lots more water. But this only a meager beginning. The task ahead is nothing short of a complete change of life for me. But I have to do it. If I want to live, I’ll need to. No doctor has advised me. I haven’t taken any BMI index tests, or whatever the hell they’re called. I just know that I’m fat, I feel lousy, and I have a family history that includes diabetes and heart disease. The writing is on the wall, and it’s (finally) beginning to scare the hell out of me.
There are places I want to go. There are things I want to achieve. I need time. Lots more time.
And I have kids who need me.
I have to change, before it’s too late.
I guess I’m a dabbler. I’ve never been able to commit to a singular goal and see it through. I imagine it’s a chronic fear of failure, coupled with a rampant inferiority complex. So I dabble. And I go nowhere. I achieve nothing. But that’s not what this blog entry is about. It’s about who I am physically, and it’s damned hard to write. I never imagined that I’d be fat and unhealthy.
Truth be told, I’ve never been skinny. Well, I was a pretty skinny kid (I started getting a bit pudgy in high school). I slowly gained weight over the fifteen-odd years following graduation, and then I’ve gained a lot more in the past five years. In all brutal honesty, I’ve never even tried to take care of myself. I eat whatever I want, however much I want, with little regard for the eventual consequence. It was different when I was young. I could abuse the hell out of my body and it didn’t seem to mind. These days, as I approach forty years old, it’s a very different story. I’m heavier now than I’ve ever been. I feel like crap much of the time. I don’t sleep well. I actually have trouble tying my shoes, or climbing lots of stairs. I am severely out of shape, and I look awful. My back hurts. My feet hurt.
I don’t want to be this person I’ve become. I don’t want to die young, but I fear I will. I fear that even admitting these things publicly won’t be enough to break me out of this cycle. I feel silly, like I’m auditioning for The Biggest Loser or something.
A cursory look over my last two years of blogging tells the tale. I almost always write about food. Food has somehow become central to my life. I think about it, I write about it. I sit passively, fork in hand, while it completely enslaves me and drags me to an early grave.
I have no illusions about what the solution entails. There is no special diet, no magic pill. I need to eat smarter (and less!), and become more active. It will suck. I will hate it. I will rage against my own cravings, and likely succumb to them at times.
I’ve already started (sort of). I gave up caffeine two weeks ago. I’m drinking lots more water. But this only a meager beginning. The task ahead is nothing short of a complete change of life for me. But I have to do it. If I want to live, I’ll need to. No doctor has advised me. I haven’t taken any BMI index tests, or whatever the hell they’re called. I just know that I’m fat, I feel lousy, and I have a family history that includes diabetes and heart disease. The writing is on the wall, and it’s (finally) beginning to scare the hell out of me.
There are places I want to go. There are things I want to achieve. I need time. Lots more time.
And I have kids who need me.
I have to change, before it’s too late.
4 comments:
How about knowing that someone else share those same concerns for himself?
Well, you sound like me 2 months ago, when I realized that my 40th birthday was less than a year away and I wasn't where I wanted to be physically. Good for you. This is the first step.
I won't bullshit you, it's not easy. I'm saying that right up front. The exercise is the worst, but you have to find something to do that you love and do it well. It might take awhile to find it, but that is the key. Good runners love to run. Good swimmers love to swim. Good golfers love to golf. You have to love what you do to be successful. (This goes for work as well.)
The food thing is different. You have to get to the root of the problem... why do you eat what you eat and more than you need? A friend of mine is paying $700 a month to figure this out so he can lose another 150 lbs. He shared this psychological question with me for free. I have figured out my two reasons for eating. When I was younger, my parents fed us everything out of a box or we ate pre-made food; not fast food. We didn't have the money. We ate bad, horrible tasting food. We also had to clean our plates. Nothing could be left behind. PERIOD. You didn't leave the table unless your plate was cleared or you were sent to your room for punishment. I eat because I have found that GOOD FOOD really exists, and I eat more than I need to because I HAVE TO clear my plate.
I am now retraining my brain to understand how much food I need and to not give a shit if I leave anything behind. If we go out, I order things I know are served in smaller portions or I pack 1/2 of it up to take home...even if I don't eat it later, at least I didn't eat it at that moment.
I have lost 15 lbs in the last 2 months. I started with cutting diet sodas and carbs. I added A LOT of water and Crystal Light. I cut out wine and beer. I have only had 2 Michelob Ultras in the last 2months. I love the Ultra! I plateaued for a couple weeks and now I am adding some carbs and watching calories instead. 1,200/day to be exact. I dropped another 1/2 lb. this morning.
And for God's sake stay busy! Busy as you can be to keep your mind off of food. Start tackling the crap around the house that you have been putting off. Also, sleep more, because when you sleep, you are not eating.
I am probably not telling you anything you don't already know, but maybe there is some ounce of motivation you can gain from my words. I wish you good luck. Take one day at a time. If you need moral support, you are welcome to contact me at karen.main@gmail.com.
All my best.
Your friend,
Karen Main
I'm where you are , brother. I've recently realized that I have very few choices in this life. But one I can make is to be healthy so I can see my kids grow up. Nobody can make this choice for me OR do the work for me. You're the only you this world has so take care of YOU. Lava.
We can do it together! And for starters, that turkey burger rocked! We both need this change and I will be here for you every step. I love you... And I love our life TOGETHER!
-Teresa
Post a Comment