Cranky or Tortured - You Decide
Oct. 17th, 2004 03:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jamesqI've been depressed this weekend. It all started when I saw a friend's bathroom scale and decided to stand on it. The number was much too high, but I figured it was because I was wearing heavy clothes, shoes, etc. The next morning I tried with my scale. I've put on something like 20 pounds. I can't really tell for sure because I wrapped the needle. Let me repeat that: I stood on a bathroom scale and wrapped the needle. That fact all by itself is goddamn depressing.
I have all kinds of excuses having to do with the shit hitting the fan over the last two years. Celexa clobbered my running regime something awful for example. Not having a stable place to live up until moving into Pepperland. Finally, having both of my parents die sucked about as much as anything could. Mostly it was a slippery slope where the worse shape I was in (and this is the fattest I've been in my life), the harder it was to exercise. Add to that a tendency to seek comfort foods when depressed and you have a recipe for blob-hood.
What really sucks is that I had been telling myself that despite my crappy lifestyle, I wasn't getting worse. Oh, I might not be getting any better, but at least I wasn't getting worse. But of course I have been getting worse - twenty pounds worth at least.
I hate this. There was a time a few years ago when I could run ten kilometres non-stop. True, I didn't run it very fast, but with the exception of Nosemonger (who has the genetics of a human greyhound), I ran it faster than anyone I hang with. I actually started getting compliments about my looks for the first time ever.
Lately I've noticed a change. The scale being just the event that was so obvious I couldn't ignore it. Little things were conspiring to tell me this for weeks now and I've been avoiding it. I had to carry a TV I bartered to Jason for and carrying it up the stairs and into his car left me out of breath. It wasn't that heavy (equivalent to a tower case), but the exertion had me panting. I've been feeling heavy and bloated - how horrible to find it's because you're heavy and bloated.
People who follow my little blog will know that i've been trying to get back into the running. I've been posting little entries saying how much I ran that day. The last one was September 30 - long enough back that any benefit has vanished and I have to start from the beginning again. I did run in the CIBC Run For the Cure, but I managed to give myself shin splints that made me take a few days off.
Well a few days off has turned into a few weeks off. I certainly can't blame the shin splints because my legs feel fine.
I feel trapped and I don't know why. I've run before and I've liked it. Getting up in the morning is sometimes hard, and the run can be a slog (especially if it's cold and snowy like today), but on those days when I've actually done it, I feel great for the rest of the day. With that sort of a reward you'd think I'd be able to make it out of bed in the morning.
There are other benefits. Confidence is one - If I ever want to ask woman out I'm only going to do it by thinking I'm not a dough boy. The simple joy of being able to take a long flight of stairs two steps at a time and not have your heart rate jump.
Those are the carrots. The stick is to remember my late Dad. He had a stroke in 1996 that took eight years to kill him. He suffered a lot in that time and if he had a healthier lifestyle he's probably still be going strong. Being felled by a heart attack doesn't scare me, but lying in a bed for eight years due to stroke related paralysis terrifies me. Maybe my Mom would still be alive too - I'm sure the stress of looking after him knocked a few years off her life. The time to avoid their fate is now, not when I'm 62.
Last year, I had a brief email conversation with the mysterious TotalCake. We were discussing New Year's Resolutions. She asked If I had any and I replied that I had the same two resolutions every year. She asked if it was getting in shape and marrying a redhead. Close to the truth, but not quite exact (It's been a long time since I had my redhead fetish).
The real problem is that neither "getting in shape" nor "marrying a redhead" (or more accurately "loosing weight" and "finding a romantic partner") are resolutions. They both come from the outside and are therefore wishes. If I have no control over it, it's a wish. I can't "resolve" to win the lottery for example. I can resolve to buy more tickets though. So a proper resolution would be "exercise more" and "ask more women out". I might not loose any weight and I might get shot down, but at least I made an effort.
Or as The Bruce says, it's all about the process baby.
So here is a resolution - it's not the New Year, but that just means I start sooner: I'm going to exercise more and eat better. That means no more candy bars, only two diet cokes at work per day, and more fish and veggies and less fast food. The running begins again and I'll be spending some of the inheritance on a treadmill so I don't fall out of it when it turns ass-biting cold. No reason why I can't bike to work either - it's only 4K away.
So I'm depressed, but I'm doing something about it. That's a change from a few years ago when all I did was feel sorry for myself, but didn't lift a finger to fix the problem.
I have all kinds of excuses having to do with the shit hitting the fan over the last two years. Celexa clobbered my running regime something awful for example. Not having a stable place to live up until moving into Pepperland. Finally, having both of my parents die sucked about as much as anything could. Mostly it was a slippery slope where the worse shape I was in (and this is the fattest I've been in my life), the harder it was to exercise. Add to that a tendency to seek comfort foods when depressed and you have a recipe for blob-hood.
What really sucks is that I had been telling myself that despite my crappy lifestyle, I wasn't getting worse. Oh, I might not be getting any better, but at least I wasn't getting worse. But of course I have been getting worse - twenty pounds worth at least.
I hate this. There was a time a few years ago when I could run ten kilometres non-stop. True, I didn't run it very fast, but with the exception of Nosemonger (who has the genetics of a human greyhound), I ran it faster than anyone I hang with. I actually started getting compliments about my looks for the first time ever.
Lately I've noticed a change. The scale being just the event that was so obvious I couldn't ignore it. Little things were conspiring to tell me this for weeks now and I've been avoiding it. I had to carry a TV I bartered to Jason for and carrying it up the stairs and into his car left me out of breath. It wasn't that heavy (equivalent to a tower case), but the exertion had me panting. I've been feeling heavy and bloated - how horrible to find it's because you're heavy and bloated.
People who follow my little blog will know that i've been trying to get back into the running. I've been posting little entries saying how much I ran that day. The last one was September 30 - long enough back that any benefit has vanished and I have to start from the beginning again. I did run in the CIBC Run For the Cure, but I managed to give myself shin splints that made me take a few days off.
Well a few days off has turned into a few weeks off. I certainly can't blame the shin splints because my legs feel fine.
I feel trapped and I don't know why. I've run before and I've liked it. Getting up in the morning is sometimes hard, and the run can be a slog (especially if it's cold and snowy like today), but on those days when I've actually done it, I feel great for the rest of the day. With that sort of a reward you'd think I'd be able to make it out of bed in the morning.
There are other benefits. Confidence is one - If I ever want to ask woman out I'm only going to do it by thinking I'm not a dough boy. The simple joy of being able to take a long flight of stairs two steps at a time and not have your heart rate jump.
Those are the carrots. The stick is to remember my late Dad. He had a stroke in 1996 that took eight years to kill him. He suffered a lot in that time and if he had a healthier lifestyle he's probably still be going strong. Being felled by a heart attack doesn't scare me, but lying in a bed for eight years due to stroke related paralysis terrifies me. Maybe my Mom would still be alive too - I'm sure the stress of looking after him knocked a few years off her life. The time to avoid their fate is now, not when I'm 62.
Last year, I had a brief email conversation with the mysterious TotalCake. We were discussing New Year's Resolutions. She asked If I had any and I replied that I had the same two resolutions every year. She asked if it was getting in shape and marrying a redhead. Close to the truth, but not quite exact (It's been a long time since I had my redhead fetish).
The real problem is that neither "getting in shape" nor "marrying a redhead" (or more accurately "loosing weight" and "finding a romantic partner") are resolutions. They both come from the outside and are therefore wishes. If I have no control over it, it's a wish. I can't "resolve" to win the lottery for example. I can resolve to buy more tickets though. So a proper resolution would be "exercise more" and "ask more women out". I might not loose any weight and I might get shot down, but at least I made an effort.
Or as The Bruce says, it's all about the process baby.
So here is a resolution - it's not the New Year, but that just means I start sooner: I'm going to exercise more and eat better. That means no more candy bars, only two diet cokes at work per day, and more fish and veggies and less fast food. The running begins again and I'll be spending some of the inheritance on a treadmill so I don't fall out of it when it turns ass-biting cold. No reason why I can't bike to work either - it's only 4K away.
So I'm depressed, but I'm doing something about it. That's a change from a few years ago when all I did was feel sorry for myself, but didn't lift a finger to fix the problem.
