Last night I got home from work tired and hungry. My kitten Briggs was home from the vet's office where she was spayed and her thumbs declawed (kind of like dew claws, but she had two on each foot). I was looking after her, trying to eat my after-work snack of multi-grain Tostitos and maragrita's salsa, and spend some time with my husband. I was also watching this sick-but-riveting show on a man who had warts so bad he looked like he was part tree (waste products of the warts created root-like structures on his hands and feet). About nine o'clock, I realized I still had to ride the bike. I still had some chores to do and had to give the cat her meds, too. My other cat got new meds also and I had to medicate him. I turned doleful eyes on my husband. "Do I really have to ride the bike, hon? Can't I just skip one night?" Bear, wonderful husband that he is, said, "Nope. you have to get on that bike. You made the commitment - now do it." So I did, grumbling and complaining. It was made worse three minutes in by his pronouncement that he was going to go to bed. He must have seen my pained expression and thought I'd skip out early, because he sat at the desk in the office and talked with me while I pedaled. He talked with me until I got over my grumpiness at having to bike so late at night and my anger at myself for making such a stupid resolution. When I was done, and we were tucked warmly into bed, I looked at him. "Thank you for making me ride the bike, Babe," I said. "I really needed the motivation." "No problem," he replied. "That's what I'm here for."
He's right. I need him to help me. I need him to be my motivator, to push me when I wouldn't push myself. If it were just up to me, I would have quit a week ago and still be railing at myself for not being able to lose any weight. Thanks to him and my friend L-Unit, I've lost two pounds. That doesn't seem like a lot (and you're right, it isn't), but I didn't do it by luck - I did it through hard work. Okay, not as hard as I could have been, but I'm getting better! I'm realizing that I am often my own worst enemy when it comes to losing weight. Why is that? Why do I sabotage myself? One day I ate almost 3,000 calories for no good reason! I've been thinking about this for a while, and I am beginning to think that I sabotage myself so that if I fail, it's not because I am physically unable to do it, but that life got in the way. It's a convenient excuse. This time, I don't have any excuse - I have Bear and L-Unit to keep me honest. Thank you both!
As many of you know, I live in the Central Maine Woods, home of trees, mountains (I drive past the end of the Appalachian Trail every day), and more trees. We have had over six feet of snow fall so far this winter, although some has melted. In this weather, I hate going outside. This morning it was -5 degrees. As in five degrees below zero. And that's not counting the wind chill. I am increasingly frustrated by this, because the more I turn to healthy living, the more I want to become a runner. I want to run for many reasons - exercise, of course, but also because I want to connect to my body, to feel the earth under my feet and the wind in my hair. I have this image of myself as a runner, hair in a sloppy ponytail, earphones in my ear, my feet moving in rhythm to whatever it is I'm listening to. I look good - lean, powerful. I know where I want to run - there's a nature trail near my house that follows a river tributary. It's about six miles long, and I'd like to be able to run the whole thing by the end of the summer. Of course, that's what's frustrating me - I can't run in Maine this time of year! Maybe I could in a bigger city where the sidewalks and roads are plowed clean, but where I am now, there is nothing but snow and slop as far as the eye can see. Not to mention how cold it is. I worry that if I don't begin down this path soon, this desire I have to be a runner will desert me, and I will be left with a pleasant image that slowly fades from memory, still running. Still powerful.