Over the course of achieving any worthy goal, there are going to be baby problems and massive obstacles. The key to success is to plan ahead for the baby problems on a daily basis–preparing both mentally and physically–thereby building your strength to face the massive obstacles when they arise. If it’s done right, it can be a really powerful 1-2 punch in your quest to win glory and fame by making your goals.
This has always worked for me in other areas of my life, and during the one period of time when I lost 40 pounds. (Of course, I gained it all back and then some, that’s why I’m here). I’d intended to do the same this time. Baby problems to me are always preparation-related: having healthy food when I’m hungry, working out like I plan to, keeping a tight rein on emotional eating and staying away from situations when I know my defenses will be low. Those are givens, the little speedbumps that should serve to make us stop and question our committment on a regular basis–they’re not necessarily the big problems that could derail us from winning.
Part of the reason I started another (hopefully, the last) weight-loss journey in January had nothing to do with the giddy ridiculousness of New Year’s Day and everything to do with the ebb of my calendar year. This is normally a slow time for me. Busy on the part of hubby’s basketball calendar but slow for me–few meetings, little reason to go outside, friends don’t normally visit or come into town. Time to focus on me and making myself better.
Only life thought it would be funny this time. Instead of starting slow, building momentum and confidence, it threw the biggest obstacle possible in my path just ten days into the new year. I’m not going to mention what it is because I’m still grappling with it, it’s hugely painful in an emotional sorta way and frankly, it’s nobody else’s business. Except when it come in the way of meeting my goals.
Even with this “issue”, I still want to hit my 40th birthday (and beyond) in a body I like. This time, the pull and the possibility of finally losing the weight was stronger than falling prey to the emotion of an “issue” that will, without question, change my life in one way or another.
Instead of crumbling into a mass of cake-seeking cells, I pulled myself together and made myself exercise–within ten minutes of finding out this little tidbit of information. I won’t lie–my initial inclination was to go upstairs, climb into bed and take this week off of work to cry myself into a stupor. But one of the changes I’m trying to make isn’t just with what I’m eating–it’s with what I’m thinking. I’ve realized that I’m a highly emotional decision-maker. In a nutshell, what that means is that when I’m faced with the decision of working to meet a goal or doing something against that goal that would feel better in that moment (not just eating here–exercise vs. watching tv, sleeping vs. planning, making dinner vs. eating out), almost exclusively to this point in life I’ve chosen the emotional reaction–no matter how stupid it might be. (The Great Donut Debacle of Easter ’09 is a prime example of that). I didn’t come to realize this on my own–it’s a little bit of a lesson I learned about myself as a writer from a recent writing workshop that seemed to make crystal-clear logical sense when I applied it to my life.
So, in trying to be more conscious and making more logical and less emotional decisions on this path, once I stopped shaking and tamped down the nausea, I sat down, took a deep breath and reflected. Let’s see…I was dressed for a workout. I’d just stopped to check something on my way to burn calories when this popped up. I had a choice and I truly felt as though I were at two major crossroads, one being my weight loss goals: I could sit with all kinds of horrible thoughts in my head, make myself achingly miserable over those thoughts and let it lead to a day of binging on sleep and Kleenex, which would only lead me to feel doubly bad after I came out of the stupor because not only would I have to face this demon head-on sooner or later, I’d also have skipped my part of the plan that I’d worked so hard to set.
After collecting myself, I worked out. I’ll be honest–it was more an attempt to do something with my body, a way to force my mind off the problem for a bit of perspective and fresh air and new blood cells than it was a wholly concerted attempt to be thinner by next April. There were moments of crying during the workout, and moments when my intensity was firecracker-hot crazy mad.
In the end, the important thing was that I focused on myself. This is a first. I mean, my focusing on myself usually means I give in to whatever pain reducer I can muster–sleep, crying, lethargy–but that never helps “myself” do anything but feel worse. After the workout, the sweating had a somewhat cleansing effect. I wasn’t over my anger by any means–hell, I’m still getting familiar with it because my tendency is to ignore and move on–but I knew I’d done something good for me. And that was good for me.
This demon is the number one issue I’ve faced in my life and the way I see it, if I can look him (demons are always male LOL) in the eye and stare him down, there’s really no excuse for not being able to move my fat ass and lose this weight. What doesn’t kill us can only make us stronger, right…?