It’s been almost a week and I’m still sorting out my emotions from my latest conquest. I’ve spent most of this week recovering in one way or another. I’ve run myself down eating way too many carbs and then wondering why I’m ornery, and my body was very pissed at me.
The first two days were all-over body aches. The third day, my lower back went out and the arthritis in my right foot flared up. The back pain was significant, but did not return after I took my last happy pill, thank goodness. The arthritis has been slower to go down, but it wasn’t affecting mobility and it’s almost back to normal now.
The bruises from the fall showed up a day or two after the walk, a big one on my upper back thigh, one on my upper arm, and the hilariously random boob bruise. They’re yellowing. I’m also recognizing the back thing was probably from the fall. You only have to run me over with the truck three or four times before these things sink in. Les was actually the one to suggest that back and fall may be connected; I was like, what fall? I can be very blonde sometimes.
Wake-up calls, much? Yes, several.
Ian: “Yea, but see, the scientists were so busy figuring out whether or not they could, that they never stopped to think if they should.”
Paraphrased, Jurassic Park
When you’ve been overweight for more than a decade, you want it gone yesterday. You don’t want to put in the work; you just want to wake up and not ache somewhere, to be able to look in a mirror without shame. I’ve been signing up for these races, because I know I’m mentally strong enough to push through them, even if I shouldn’t be walking in the damn things. I’m through signing up for a pinch. It’s time to actually put in the work.
Then the pictures came. There was a professional photographer at the finish line. One or two of them are actually really nice shots; I’m still deciding if I’ll help fund his kid’s college tuition by purchasing a digital copy (seriously, what a racket!). But I also suffer from what I call reverse anorexia, or what the experts would probably call body dysmorphic syndrome. I can look in the mirror, and since the mirrors in our house aren’t full-length, can leave the house thinking I look pretty nice. Until I catch my reflection in a store window or something and realize I’ve taken middle-aged fat dork to art form status. As you can see, I also still have a problem with negative self-talk.
So I look at the pictures, and he caught me nicely in one or two shots…I’ve got my big silly grin on and I look triumphant, rather than shredded, because that last hill was downright evil, but as I look at myself in my shorts and nice top (huh, I do rock that color!), half covered in red clay, my main thought is damn. I really am that big.
It was an AHA moment, an honest-to-goodness one. I literally looked at those pics and thought, wait, I look like a fat person. Did I mention I’ve been this big for more than a decade? Oh, I did….well, WHERE THE HELL HAVE I BEEN ALL THAT TIME?????
I’ve been surviving on myths: I can exercise without changing my diet and still lose. I can fall off the wagon and climb back on and still lose. I can do these walks without training for them first. I can, I can, I can….except I can’t. Turning point time. Again.
It’s not like my body hasn’t given me plenty of signs. When I OD on carbs now, it directly affects my mood. My gall bladder was very angry with my overeating last fall. I get blinding headaches when my candida is up. Pretty sure I’ve got enough self-flagellation going on. About time to actually do something about it.
To be continued…