Here we go again

Every day, I think about exercising. I think about how good it feels to exercise hard. The sweat, the endorphin rush, the feeling of accomplishment, the knowledge I've done something so good for myself.

And every day, I neglect to exercise.

Perhaps it is Start-of-Year-Two malaise. That could be it. I have been within striking distance of 199 pounds for what feels like months now. I would very much like to land that particular plane, and yet, and yet, I do nothing to bring it safely to ground.

And boy, do I feel bad when I don't work out. Not just emotionally, though that too. I feel like I've let myself down, like I could so easily slip back into my old ways. But physically, as well, I just feel crummy. Kind of flabby, less energetic. And it's true, what Newton said: a body at rest remains at rest until and unless acted upon by an outside force. He sure was smart, that Newton.

At least I'm eating apples and the like. Mostly. And bacon, and this week croissants because I was stuck for three days in a crappy hotel that seems to think that croissants and jam make a healthy breakfast. Smartly, though, at last, I remembered to pack my own fruit cups and yogurt. So there was that, at least. But also the croissants.

Now, back to Newton. I also packed my sneakers and workout clothes, but I might as well have left them at home. I couldn't get it together at all this week to exercise, the way I usually can when I'm in a hotel. I seem to be suffering from some inertia. And I would very much like to kick its ass. Perhaps that will be the outside force Newton spoke of.

I feel the need, deeply, to get back on track. To quit fucking around already and get back down to it. I was in a good place over the summer, with the eating and the yoga three times a week, and the long walks and all the rest of it. It felt good, and it was paying off. But for the last seven weeks, I've forgotten all about being in the moment. I've forgotten all about honouring myself, taking time for myself, treating myself right. I've forgotten all about just being, all about breathing out, all about letting go. How'd that happen? I guess I got a little stressed out, what with not being allowed to go to work and all.

But no more. It's ridiculous, now. Yes, I liked my old routine. But life is change, and I have got to be able to keep up with it, to come around to it a little sooner than seven weeks in.

I can't wait to get a good sweat going. I welcome the agony of ashtanga on Monday. And kickboxing. And oh god yes, cardio striptease. I'm back, baby, I am back.

Belated

Well, I missed my own blogiversary (September 13). How lame is that? Well, a year after I woke up one morning and thought, holy god, I am fat and it’s time to do something about it, I find myself thirty-ish pounds down and some days so committed I don’t even recognise myself. Other days, I recognise myself all too well.

Since the lockout began 40 days ago, I haven’t had any routine to speak of. In some ways, that’s been amazing. Not getting a paycheque is a little less amazing, but I’m freelancing like crazy, picking up odd jobs here and there and generally getting by. Taco’s work has really picked up as well, so we’ve been just fine, financially. Being mostly liberated from sitting at a desk 40 hours a week has meant that I’m burning more calories every day just being me. Whether that’s walking the picket line or standing for four hours a day in the guild office answering phones and whatnot, or just puttering around at home. It has been…well, it’s been great. Even though I haven’t tracked my food in, oh, 40 days, and even though planned exercise has been mostly hit and miss for, you know, the same 40 days, I’m still down a handful of pounds since mid-August.

I have to say, my body really likes not being chained to a desk. And my mind does too. I have about ten good ideas a day, which is up from my usual ten a year. It’s looking like this whole stupid thing will be resolved in a week or two, and I have to say I have mixed feelings about that. The good thing about having been locked out is that it’s given me a chance to imagine a different life for myself, work-wise. The bad thing, of course, is that I’ve poured my heart and soul into that place for three years, any my colleagues have logged plenty more time than that, and it’s really, really depressing to have the doors shut on you when you care so much about the future of public broadcasting.

However, this blog isn’t about that.

It’s about fat. Of which I still have plenty left.

I went to the gym last night for the first time since the beginning of the summer. The weather has taken a definitive autumnal turn, and it gets dark around 7:30 now, so my usual hour-long walk was out. Plus, my schedule has been so wacked lately that carving out a whole hour for myself seems pretty impossible. I’m sure it isn’t actually impossible. But it sure does seem that way. So I was sitting on the couch post-supper, pre-picking up Taco from work, and I thought, you know, if I hustle, I can get in 30 minutes at the gym.

And my next thought was, no, I really should do 60, but I don’t have time, so I won’t bother.

Oh for chrissakes. You’d think I’d learned nothing over the past year and ten days.

But indeed, I have learned something. I’ve learned that perfection is not necessary, but effort is. And that ultimately, effort is much more valuable than perfection. So I strapped on my sneaks and headed out the door, and got in some good time on the elliptical and the treadmill, came home sweaty and happy and determined to really get back on track.

Because I’d love it if my wedding dress could be somewhat smaller than size 16.

I’ve got about a year, and a bunch of new skills and attitudes. Plus, of course, my personal trainer, M&C. Keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times, kids, here we go!