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Working out, work in progress
November is just around the corner. Yeah, it is, and it’s celebration time for me. Eight years ago I told all y’all I had joined a gym, The County Club. At that time, I’d reached an all-time record “high” and an all-time record “low”. Highest weight ever, including my pregnant-with-eleven-pound-babies weight. Lowest level of fitness ever. I had the highest number of excuses for not workingout. I had the lowest rating for myself, ever. If there were a chance for me to put myself down, I did. I am hypothyroid, and as far as I was concerned eight years ago, that made me fat. I am hypothyroid and that made me sluggish. I was too old. I was too busy. I was too tired. I was too fat. I didn’t have gym clothes. I didn’t have gym shoes. I hated shaving my legs and I didn’t like wearing gym shorts. My boobs bounced when I worked out (but I didn’t work out). My flabby arms jiggled. I had a spare tire or two or three. My heart beat too fast when I did anything physically strenuous, including climbing stairs, getting into the car, getting out of the car, shopping, walking and yard work. I had indigestion after every meal. And you know you can’t workout if you have indigestion. I’d learned that most doctors don’t like to point out the obvious like a weight problem, nor do they like to dispense dietary advice. Don’t get me wrong, I understand most doctors haven’t got a clue about lifestyle and how it relates to health. However, my chronic indigestion made me a candidate for a number of tests and eventually elicited a suggestion to use an OTC to quell the burn. No one ever suggested I should stop eating fatty foods or even asked what my daily intake looked like. And, since I was an avid cyclist, I thought that just about covered the “get fit” issue. I thought I was fit-fat, but not really. What I really was, eight years ago, was ignorant and delusional.
Eight years ago I found a reason to stay fat and miserable. I ate antacids after most meals. I slept almost upright to avoid reflux. I grumbled about “manufacturers who didn’t know what a size 12 really looked like” when I should have been more concerned about the size 18 I was wearing. I’m tricky that way, you know. What the H E double hockey sticks had I done to myself? One day, after a consult at the gym, it finally occurred to me that I was the only one to blame for the shape I was in. My shape was sort of droopy and round. I seemed to revel in my physical state of unhealthiness. I truly wallowed in my misery. I had convinced myself it was the price I was paying for being “older”. The reality was slowly sinking in. And then? Well, and then one day our son showed me a photograph taken during an epic bike trip. A trip that covered the distance from Brockville to Picton. Cycling always made me feel strong and in control. In my mind’s eye, I was a svelte dynamo, yet the image I saw wasn’t anything of the sort. Holy granola bars. The image made me sad. I started reading about physical fitness and healthy eating, but it took me almost a year to do something about it.
So, much to my surprise (and yours too, I’ll bet), here I am. I’m eight years into my quest for fitness, strength and health and I’m still learning. I no longer think if I lose 30 or 40 pounds, then I can put “paid” to that bill. I see fitness, healthy eating and strength as an everyday item in my chosen lifestyle. I’ve learned to eat clean (most of the time) and train dirty (all of the time). My workouts have become a regular a part of my everyday life. I’m strong. I’m fit. I’m a lot happier. I enjoy being with my children and my grandchildren. I love the time I spend with LOML. My closet is home to more gym clothes than street clothes. I still don’t like wearing shorts, but that’s just me. I’m not afraid of sports tights, tank tops and sweat bands. I’m still hypothyroid and have recently been diagnosed with Sjogren’s Disease. Ain’t nothing I can do about it, but it isn’t used as an excuse for inactivity. Indigestion is a thing of the past. My spare tire isn’t Mack Truck sized and when I sit around the house, I don’t really “sit around the house”.
Eight years in November. Happy Anniversary to me. I’m proud of myself and look forward to the next eight years! If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, why are you “sitting around the house”? Be a work in progress!
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