My 2010 can easily be divided into 2 parts.
There’s the 1st one, from 12/30/09 to early June 2010. I was eating right, exercising regularly, losing lbs at an amazing pace without any magic tricks or pills. I felt great. I felt like I had done it, kicked my bad food habits (soda, doughnuts, & general excess) for good. I had gradually increased my Planet Fitness gym workout to 1 hour on the treadmill (at a 15min/mile pace) and a bunch of individual weight/resistance stuff. Each workout was more than I’d ever done in my previous 33 years combined. Needless to say, I was on a freaking roll and it all centered around the gym. I wasn’t making bad food choices because I was exercising hard and I didn’t want to “waste” a workout by indulging in a cookie, or something similar.
Then there is the 2nd part, from June to right now. I hurt my lower back right after Memorial Day and was essentially paralyzed for 2 weeks. I didn’t see the gym. Hell, save for my bedroom and bathroom, I didn’t see much of my home. I started to munch, out of boredom mostly. I didn’t have the gym to motivate me anymore. I had nothing but time and pain and food, and little self-pity. A toxic mix.
After time, physical therapy, and a daily stretching regiment, my back is as close to normal as it’ll ever get. I’ve returned to the gym too, at least 3 times a week and back up to my 1 hour+ routine. Yet, there is something off. That sweaty, tough (for me) workout is no longer enough to keep me from grabbing extra dinner rolls at Thanksgiving, cookies at Christmas, and Peppermint Patties any time I see ’em around. Every morning I wake up determined to start again and by every evening I’ve screwed up by putting something shitty in my body (or too much of something that’s marginally okay). I just can’t figure it out.
Back in the spring, I was telling folks impressed with my progress (which was so totally visible: I was cutting new holes in my belt to pull it tighter to keep my jeans and shorts from falling down ’round my ankles) that my other motivation, other than the gym, was fear. I was afraid that, at 34 years old, this was my final great chance. I had, after all, made it 5 months – WAY longer than I’d ever lasted before. If I F-ed it up, I figured, I’d never recapture the momentum and overall positivity that surrounded me. Well, looks like I was right. While I still haven’t touched a soda or a doughnut or butter-as-condiment (I only cook with it) in 12 months and I’ve certainly been bigger and more out of shape at various points, right now I feel as gross as I’ve ever felt in my life.
I’m not 100% sure that I’ve got it in me to reverse this trend, but I’m going to try again today 12/30/10, the 1 year anniversary of the start of the best 5 months of my life.
I’m about to turn 35-years old. I’m saddled with a bad back that will never be fully cured. I still want it bad though; to live and be active with my girls and, someday maybe, their kids.
This may actually be my last best chance. Wish me luck.
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