She Moved Through The Fair

A good muscle ache.  The ache of having gone through what needs to be done and taking the ache as the gift at the end.   Better than a lollipop.

Today I didn’t have lunch until 2:30pm.  I didn’t even break away for lunch until then because the co-workers and boss were at a funeral and I am so snowed under that I just was working, at breakneck speed even, until my hunger became too sharp to ignore.  So I gathered myself and got my deposit ready and went to the bank and all the way the big, hairy knotted hunger started its crazy talk.  Started telling me things about myself that an inanimate craving couldn’t know.  And it started trying to get me to break with all the usual reasons:  You are so hungry that you can only remotely be helped by a hamburger and fries.  You could totally just start over tomorrow.  For gods’ sake, it’s Monday.  Those loud, antsy, near-frantic clamberings all over my psyche.  We need a Starbucks!  We need Chipotle!  We just need something other than what you want to eat.  We need to upset this apple cart right now.

So outlandish were these manipulations, I was able to stride into the deli, order and feel great.  Smug, even.  I  got a big cobb salad with avocado and egg and did my best to eat it at my desk while still working.  I stayed an hour late to finish the edits on the webpage that I needed to do.  I gave it my all, even if it wasn’t remotely enough.

And this morning, after spending all night intermittently sleeping and awaking to wig out over the release information for Babel, Mumford’s upcoming album, I got on the bike for 10 minutes.  After work, after I drove us properly to the store and back without maiming any citizenry, I did my situps and I did walk two miles.

Not perfect.  Not baby body-builder shit, but something.   Movement.  Air in the old lungs.  But I did it.  So hah.  I am just so glad I didn’t give into the desire to fall off the wagon.  How would it not take me less than half a second to regret it?  Even if my legs are itching under the weight of the laptop.  Gotta go find that muscle rub once I’m through.

I wish to be more eloquent with you of late.  Talking about the process of weight loss isn’t exactly romantic.  The details, pounds up or down, the meals, this micro-management of what is carefree for others is monotonous and agonizing.  I know that it is for me at least, I can only imagine what it’s like to sequentially read this.  But it takes a lot of very careful, deliberate force to get this play-doh through the proverbial mold.  Sorry, terrible analogy.  I just have to pay attention right now.   The daydreaming will come back in a flood.

I definitely need to be more zen.

Listening to Laura Marling’s Tiny Desk performance.   That’s helping.

Weight today: 159.0.

The Duel

Probably should start writing the post before I worry too much about the picture.

I am far too chipper for the late hour.  I’ve gotten the wanderlust again and I don’t know if it’s because we’ve had weeks now of miserable weather with only a few broken hours of weak sunlight or if it’s just become a natural part of my rhythms, but I’m planning trips for the coming year like it’s going out of style.  Minneapolis for my cousin’s wedding in June, now it looks like DragonCon in September and possibly going to New Orleans in October.  This extra week of vacation plus the icy temperature and fields and fields of blow that seem to have transformed the parking lot outside of our condo has me dreaming of airplanes and airport security lines and the wonderful process of going.   Hopefully, all the plans will come together and the money can be set aside and it won’t all be the gleeful fannish dream it feels like right now.  Someday, somehow, we’ll add up all these little half-escapes and find a door right out of all our troubles.

I’ve gone just enough today to be quite pleased with myself.  I have not yet succumbed to all cravings and excuses and little sidesteps that are settled just above my head.  All the ideas that I let destroy my diets in the past, they’re just outside my peripheral vision but I know exactly what they are, how they feel with then they swing towards me with this angelically demonic tone just syruped over everything they whisper.  They hope to get my attention and they hope to put the breaks on what is starting to become a fairly visible difference.   A physical difference that I can physically detect.  These ideas, these failed motivations, these fears all are hoping that one of these days I will trip up and fall out of my groove and my life will become predictable again.

I am becoming one of those people who could just up and do anything.   This is very scary.

Scarier yet is how this is coming about.  I find today that I like doing push-ups.  Even if they’re modified pushups from your knees.   I remember being told to do those in high school gym and no one ever properly explained how to do them and I sort of half did them just enough to get by. They felt impossible and awkward.  Now I’ve got enough strength going in my arms and I understand how my arms need to go to support the weight and it feels good to feel that I can do them.  Not a thousand.  Not single-armedly (hear that, Miss Grammar Nazi 1994, I know it’s not a word.  It is poetic license, though).  I can do a push-up or two, though.

I ate in the limits, rode on the bike with the seat so hard it’s akin to medieval torture until the calories were up, did the strength exercises and I don’t feel remotely brutalized by the effort. Not a drop mistreated.  So, terrors, fears, cravings, and whatever else is battering around inside the Pandora’s Box of my brain, you’re going to have to make me far more miserable than this to make me consider going back to what was.   This is my glove on the ground.  This is a challenge.