I was fed up, tired of the crap, and needed to give this person a swift kick in the behind and tell her exactly what I thought of the situation at hand.
I didn't want to do it. I hate confrontation and I knew she would resist my approach, but I also knew it had to be done.
I had to be honest, harsh, brutal, and firm. I knew it would be hard... and it was.
Who is this person I had to have "the talk" with? Who had upset me so? Who was making me worry and fret and put me in this unhappy state?
I'm ashamed to say that it was me.
As I rolled out of bed, I could hear various pops and crackles and it just drove the nail further into the coffin. It sounded like my vertebrae were just knocking around in my body like large, loose, clanking marbles. But this was no fun game with colorful glass orbs. This was my life. This was my health. This was me knowing that I needed to firmly kick my own ass.
I started the conversation in my head, "Okay, muffin top, you and I simply have to part ways. I just can't have you around anymore. I love you, but you're hurting me and dragging me down. You're bad for me and I know it. I just can't ignore these feelings anymore. I need to move on. I need my life back."
If you look at the picture of the muffins here, you will see what my belly looks and feels like. Overstuffed! Bursting out of the container.
I knew it was time. I could tell I was nearing my "time to do something" weight and a simple step onto the scale confirmed it. I was at top weight, my self-imposed limit, my doomsday. My body was rebelling, fighting me, and had been flipping me the bird for even suggesting we should get healthy again.
When I lost the 15 pounds after doing the Creative Bioscience challenge, I felt pretty good. Wow, what a difference 15 pounds can make. I now feel uncomfortable. My clothes don't fit. I don't want to move, and if and when I do too much moving, my back goes out like it did after vacation. I am weak and my body is vulnerable... to itself.
Why do I feel so shameful about it?
- I know better, that's why.
- I can do better, that's why.
- I am better than this sloppy existence, that's why.
I used to be a Beachbody coach. Working out was a passion of mine. I inspired other people. I ran a workout group online. I felt like a superhero. Now, I just feel like the villain. A pizza and cheese fueled villain. Sigh. I feel guilty. I have let myself down.
I am reflecting deeply on why I haven't felt satisfied lately and it all boils down to two things. One, I'm not physically fit and therefore I feel sluggish in every aspect. And two, I'm not happy with my home health care job.
I could give you a list of 50 reasons why working out is good for me. One reason is that I don't have back problems when I work out. Why? Muscles support the skeletal system. If the support system isn't strong, neither am I. I wobble and clank around like an old empty freight car. I am carrying dead weight. I am rusting.
This winter has been rough. I haven't been able to go do my home health care job very much because of the weather. If it's too cold, she won't let me come because my car might break down and I'd be stranded in the cold. If it's too snowy, she won't let me come because I might get stuck. If it's too wet, the roads flood and I have trouble even getting there. Mostly, I agree with the logic and have not been wanting to take any chances. However, one of the things I do for her is to walk her dog, which gives him (and me) much needed exercise. No work. No dog walk.
My home terrain is not conducive to exercise. My road is one of the worst in the county and the last to clear of snow and ice and the rest of my walking path was snowed over or too icy or too muddy this past two months. I haven't been walking my dogs since - oh - fifteen pounds ago or so. I love walking out here in the spring, summer, and fall. But this winter, I hate it. I don't even want to go outside. I don't like temperatures under 60 and it's been far under that. I just want to curl up in a ball on the couch and hibernate.
Sure, I've used my hula hoop and done an occasional workout, but it wasn't until yesterday that I got serious with my lazy self. And boy, did I kick my own ass. I am soooo sore today. I did a whole RevAbs workout without missing a single exercise and I did it with weights. I woke up this morning and my whole body knew I had been in a fight. I think everything but my fingers, toes, and nose is sore.
But this time, I am winning, not the villain. So I did another workout today, a P90X Stretch one hour long workout. Tomorrow, I will work out again. And again. And again. And again. I will beat myself into submission.
I remember what it feels like to love working out. I want that feeling of love again.
I remember what it feels like to love my job. I want that feeling again.
Sure, I love the lady I take care of and she is "family." However, as I crouched on my hands and knees scrubbing dog poop out of her carpet last week and as I scrubbed her bed sheets where she had soiled them, I thought to myself, "This is my life." And I was sad.
I love writing, not cleaning poop. I'm forty-four years old. I'm smart. I can make a living writing. Why am I doing something I'm not passionate about? Both times I've taken the home health care job, it started as a favor, helping someone out. Somehow, it became life; a life I'm not passionate about.
I don't know exactly how I got here. All I know is that it's time to kick some Cindy ass. Join me?