Funerals are a hell of a way to start a week. Mourning + ovulation + work stress + general IDGAFery = up this week. Thankfully, this week does not look to be terribly stressful, especially as side projects wind down and I can finally get back to the business of taking care of myself the way I deserve to.
This just keeping my head above water business isn’t cutting it, and I’m tired of just getting by. That’s what it feels like I’ve done this year so far. I deserve so much more than just getting by. I don’t “just get by” in other areas of my life, so why when it comes to me is it acceptable?
- I deserve to be healthy.
- I deserve to be happy.
- I deserve to be comfortable in my own (extra) skin.
I’ve got meals planned, I’m going to check out the aqua fit class at my gym on Thursday night, and I’ve got a plan for getting back after it at the gym that involves quality time with the dreadmill (no running, but walking hills). I need to build muscle mass and tone in my legs and arms because I know there is a shape under all this extra skin. I can even see it sometimes. I just want this extra skin to hang better than it does, and I know some muscle underneath will help with that. Spanx can only do so much, you know?
Also, more muscle mass means more fat burning capacity. I just want to lose 35 more pounds and call it done. I am fairly certain that I will not get to my original goal, but I am okay with that as I am already bony enough in some spots and don’t want to look sick. I want to look healthy, and for me, that means being a little more meaty. I am slowly starting to accept that I may never reach my initial goal, and I’m slowly learning to be okay with that.
When I began this journey over 2 years ago (!!!!), my goal was never to be skinny. It was always to be healthy. It was always about health first, looks last. Ultimately, my health is what will carry me to an old age. I hope it does, anyway–I’ve started thinking a lot about my mortality in light of my cousin’s death two weeks ago. He was younger than me by 7 years, and battled some demons I can’t comprehend. I am not certain what the circumstances were surrounding his death, but I hope that they did not involve his taking his own life. Regardless of how his end came to pass, his death has me thinking about my own mortality and doing what I can to prolong this life I’ve been gifted with. I’m 42 now, and the biologist in me sees the type I survivorship curve:
What does this mean to the average bear? It means that most humans make it to nearly 100 percent of their life expectancy–in other words, we have a propensity for getting old, and that there are fewer of us born at a time. I like to think I’ll grow to be pretty old, and that having had this surgery at least improves my chances.
But I also know that none of us is promised tomorrow or the day after that. And it is this thought that’s driving me to want to get more out of each day that goes by.
I headed back to the gym for the first time in a few months today. I eased into my workout–I alternated between the bike and the treadmill, doing about 12 minutes on each at an intense level, making sure I got my heart rate up. Now that things with my side projects have begun to slow down a bit, I’m leveraging this extra down time and putting it to good use by trying to take care of me the way I should be. I have so much I want to do, so many places to go, so many things to see, and so many people I want to spend time with that I can’t do it if I am unhappy and unhealthy. I deserve more than an unhealthy body, and I certainly deserve to live a long, full life.
But I am the only one who can make it happen. I make it happen with the choices I make daily.
And I choose me. I choose health. I choose to be comfortable in my own skin. I choose to love me more. Without these choices, happiness and the peace I seek to make with myself for being morbidly obese for 40 years will always elude me.
I choose me. I deserve the best me there possibly is.