I don’t come to these pages with a strong opening this morning. My sinuses are blocked, and despite a long sleep, I’ve a pounding headache and could do with more. I’m not looking forward to the work day ahead, and I predict that it will drain me so much that I won’t be looking forward so much to the after-work day either.
And I’m disappointed in myself at the moment. I’m disappointed in how I’m living, that I’m not making better choices, that I’m not doing more. And I’m frustrated with the rest of the world, which I feel is partly to blame for thwarting my motivation.
But you know, the rest of the world will always move along its own path and I can’t just can’t abdicate responsibility for how I behave in my life just because of what the world has decided to do.
Where’s this coming from?
Well, yesterday I had a race. It was mainly a training race for the teachers and students taking part in the upcoming Marathon Relay, so a few of our students were there too. I was excited about it because it was my first time getting back running since the injury I did to my calf over Easter. I am finally feeling like it’s strong enough to run on again, and with the relay only 4 short weeks away, I am anxious to get back on top of my training. It’s difficult to break the inertia of not-training though, so this 5k fun run was feeling like a really good opportunity for me.
So yeah, I was excited about the race.
But 3 minutes into the run, one of the girls started experiencing some pain high in her stomach. We ended up walking half the distance and then I drove her home.
So, fine – of course – that’s my job. I was more there as her teacher than as a runner. But inside, if I’m honest, part of me feels disappointed and drained of energy. I’ve said that I’ll go out for a training run myself this evening – and I think I always would have – but I find myself groaning inwardly at the thought of it, as I start to rebuild the fitness that got stolen by that injury, and the thought of having to organise the evening after a long day of work; I don’t know what we’ll eat for dinner, I don’t know how I’ll have time to cook it and go for a run, and there’s a pile of correcting a mile high waiting for me that I simply have no time to get to.
I know. I just can do what I can do. But this is what I mean by feeling thwarted by the world.
And while I’m complaining – you know what seems to make it all harder on days like this, when it just seems impossible? Being fat. I just wish I wasn’t. And I’m trying hard to be self-accepting and to take it slow. I want my approach to be a healing and gentle one where I develop an awareness of what I’m eating and listen to my body and stop when I’m fucking full! (See how gentle I’m being.)
And then I get pissed off and stressed and I don’t even want to try. I just want to switch off and eat all the sweets and junk. I did just that yesterday evening. I feel guilty about it this morning. It’s that old, familiar guilt – very similar to how I used feel after I’d succumb to a “stress-relieving” bottle of wine when I’d self-promised I wouldn’t.
I am worried about the impact on my health. (Oh! My blood work came back yesterday – I go a text to say “all normal” apart from cholesterol, which while still high at 6.7 is down slightly from last year’s 6.9. So – not diabetic yet! All the same, I’d like to get the actual numbers at some point – I pay for the tests after all! I will ask for them the next time I see my doctor.) I’m worried that I’ve just replaced alcohol with sugar and that I’m still not doing the necessary internal work to untangle the whys of my drinking and eating. I’m worried about how much I’ve felt in the past few days that I don’t even want to do that work.
I feel like a stroppy teenager shouting “Leave me alone!” and slamming the door of some metaphorical bedroom.
What am I going to do next? I don’t know. Try again. Fail again? You know how the saying goes …