My last 25 or so years in the health and well being department can be summed up in one word: excuses. Which is not so hard to believe for anyone who has seen me in the last, oh, 25 or so years.
All excuses came to a shockingly abrupt yet pathetically predictable halt 11 weeks ago when I slipped 2 discs doing nothing. Despite various folks attemps to convince me that this shit just happens, not one cell in my immense body buys it. At 35, my body should NOT break doing normal tasks...like, oh, bending down.
Some would call this moment rock bottom; as bad as it gets.
To me, this is definitively the end of the road. The dreaded end of the road of my weight not impacting my overall health and happiness. The end of the road of putting off taking charge. The end of the road of not holding myself accountable. The end of the road of ignoring the fact that I am decidedly heavier than when I made the high stakes decision to return to Houston to get my weight in check. The end of the road of "I can start getting healthy any time I want, no rush," "a new great restaurant that I MUST try," "a friend coming into town who I MUST take to the best spots," "drinks that I CANNOT skip out on," "I've had a hard week. I DESERVE this margarita." The end of the road of excuses.
This is also the beginning of the road. A road that seems 25 years familiar--one that I have begun to travel down hundreds of times. A road that is maddeningly long, and bumpy, and frustrating, and frought with countless, tempting detours. One that often seems it is all tunnel and no light. That I am embarrassed and deflated to be on..and that I should have been on much, much sooner. A road that I have never been to the end of--not even close.
6 weeks down this new road I am 18 pounds lighter. Which amounts to essentially a foot past the starting line. I am grumpy, and weary, and frustruated, and impatient. But I don't have the option to be any of those things for longer than a split second.
Because the only option is the other road. And going one inch further down that road is definitively, finally not an option.
All excuses came to a shockingly abrupt yet pathetically predictable halt 11 weeks ago when I slipped 2 discs doing nothing. Despite various folks attemps to convince me that this shit just happens, not one cell in my immense body buys it. At 35, my body should NOT break doing normal tasks...like, oh, bending down.
Some would call this moment rock bottom; as bad as it gets.
To me, this is definitively the end of the road. The dreaded end of the road of my weight not impacting my overall health and happiness. The end of the road of putting off taking charge. The end of the road of not holding myself accountable. The end of the road of ignoring the fact that I am decidedly heavier than when I made the high stakes decision to return to Houston to get my weight in check. The end of the road of "I can start getting healthy any time I want, no rush," "a new great restaurant that I MUST try," "a friend coming into town who I MUST take to the best spots," "drinks that I CANNOT skip out on," "I've had a hard week. I DESERVE this margarita." The end of the road of excuses.
This is also the beginning of the road. A road that seems 25 years familiar--one that I have begun to travel down hundreds of times. A road that is maddeningly long, and bumpy, and frustrating, and frought with countless, tempting detours. One that often seems it is all tunnel and no light. That I am embarrassed and deflated to be on..and that I should have been on much, much sooner. A road that I have never been to the end of--not even close.
6 weeks down this new road I am 18 pounds lighter. Which amounts to essentially a foot past the starting line. I am grumpy, and weary, and frustruated, and impatient. But I don't have the option to be any of those things for longer than a split second.
Because the only option is the other road. And going one inch further down that road is definitively, finally not an option.
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