First Day

Every morning starts the same: I hit the snooze button too many times, remind myself that I have GOT to change that damn Wiz Khalifa ring tone and head to the bathroom. Sneaking the door closed, the hot light from the dressing room-style bulbs washes over me and as my brain starts whirring to life, the feeling of dreadful forgetfulness signals the advent of day. “What did I eat yesterday? Wait, what did I eat last NIGHT? Did I have any binges? How much damage did I do?” A flurry of frantic questions race through my mind as I start to piece together the remains of the previous 24-hours. Like an alcoholic trying to figure out, “How drunk WAS I?!?”, I mentally size-up the food choices from the day before and assemble it all to determine if I’ve started a great new streak of health or if I’ve bombed again and should just throw myself head first into a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes. Once in a great while, it’s the former but usually the sad shame from the sleepy brown eyes in the mirror lets me know that I am beginning another day on the heels of another failure. “Everything is better in the morning. Tomorrow is another day. Today is a new beginning.” For me, every sunrise holds promise: the promise that I make to myself to change. Then by the time the light shifts and the shadows slide back into darkness, that promise has usually been chewed up and choked down along with countless calories, leaving me alternately full and empty, and exhausted by myself.

I usually avoid the scale, especially when I know I've been out of control, but something made me get on today. I alternate between checking my weight religiously and completely ignoring it. I don't like to live by the numbers because they are just that - numbers - but at some point, ignorance is no longer bliss. My fail safe guide is when my clothing gets too tight and at the rate I've gone lately, I've sped right past too tight straight into borrowing cast-off clothes from my mom. Clothes that no longer fit her because she has been taking charge of her own health and clocking some amazing progress. So it's worked out well for both of us as she reaps the well-deserved benefits of her hard work and I get to move right into the clothes that she no longer needs. But also, I'm borrowing clothes from my mom. There are a few things wrong with that, but let's focus. Basically, things are not going well and I need to figure out how to flip that around and actually learn to LIVE well. I'm tired all the time, I'm cranky, I'm uncomfortable, I'm out of shape and I am so ready to no longer be any of those things. But I also know that I have been "so ready" so many times that it will never be as simple as making a declaration that "I'm done!" and I'll just magically figure it all out. By acknowledging that I know there will be bumps in the road, I'm hoping that I can better handle them and just keep going rather than let those bumps detour me down roads that become so twisted I can no longer find my way back. I have lots of big plans for how this is going to happen, though I haven't exactly thought out all of the strategies yet. What I do know is I have my goal and I need to start immediately. It's the same goal I've had since I had my daughter: I want to be in the best shape of my adult life by the time I'm forty. That's it. Simple and yet impossibly complex, given the way I tend to complicate matters by any means possible. All for another post but for the time being, this is where I will start. Or rather, where I plan to end up. Fit, healthy and rockin' it by the time I turn forty. There are many other numbers I will be working toward - seconds I can hold a plank, amount of burpees I can bust out in one minute - but my path to wellness will begin with Fifty by Forty. Fifty pounds lost by my birthday, which is in June. I have ten months, which seems both like an infinity and a hot second at the same time. It's not because I think 50 pounds is the key to happiness, but simply because I know deep down when I really allow myself to think about what I can achieve, I know that truly, I can do it. The time frame is just the added kick to get me moving at a little higher rate than couch speed.

Some plans will be: accountability through this blog. So incredibly scary but I'm hoping it will be helpful in unlocking some of the madness, dealing with it and leaving it behind. Pictures: at this point far too horrifying to think about, but for now I will say I'm considering it. My toes on the scale on Facebook was a big enough start for a while, I think. Food tracking: I jump back and forth on this one because years ago I lost a lot of weight through calorie-tracking, which started out innocently enough and soon devolved into a type of mania I don't want to get back into. I think my resistance to going back to that extremely regimented life is partially why I am so heavy now. I keep waiting to fall into healthy habits naturally, without thinking, and that has completely not been happening. Having a chili-cheese burrito as a post-workout snack is definitely a habit, but it is certainly not healthy or natural. Er, well, I guess it is to me, but I am working on that being the old me. So I will track, not my calories per say but moreover the how, the when, the why I eat. I vow to be honest about every bite, every snack, every king-size movie goodie. I need to see what I'm taking in so I can amend the way I eat, not just what I eat.

I'm not going to strive for perfection or for some crazy ideal I couldn't possibly live up to. But I am going to finally strive for change. I will work every day to make the changes so that I can see the changes. So that I can feel the changes. To be happier, healthier and more present in my life - to have those things, I won't wait until forty. I know I've waited too long already. And so it begins.