“I will fight for one last breath
I will fight until the end
And I will find the enemy within
Because I can feel it crawl beneath my skin
Dear Agony
Just let go of me
Suffer slowly
Is this the way it's got to be?”
“Fitting.” I thought, sulkily, as I sat on my bike in the dark forcing my legs to turn the pedals, I was sweating profusely, breathing hard and just wanted the workout to be over.
I was angry, frustrated and disillusioned. I was at war, a war I was just beginning to realize I was waging against an enemy I was just beginning to admit I had.
“And I will find the enemy within”
The anger, frustration and disillusionment came from my deep desire to lose weight and my amazing ability to seemingly sabotage myself at every opportunity.
Why was I so completely at odds with myself – how can someone so smart be so stupid?
It was early, really early and it was dark – as dark as my mood.
I’d been on the bike 90 minutes already, and it wasn’t even 0630hrs. I didn’t see it as dedication, I saw it as the ramifications to having skipped the spin the night before – bargaining with myself at the time that I was tired and I could just get up and do it “tomorrow”.
Well, “tomorrow” had arrived, with a vengeance.
But the vengeance was mine, and the target was my lazy self.
I had made the mistake of getting on the scale Tuesday morning to find my weight up, way up and I could think of no reasonable explanation for this. I had been holding steady for a number of weeks hovering on the cusp of dropping through a milestone number.
Milestones are funny things. Like retailers marketing something for $11.99 rather than $12.00; weighing 129 pounds rather than 130, or 139 instead of 140 just seems better. Weighing the “Nine” rather than the neighbouring “Zero” is something I think most women would strive for (maybe even some men).
In the grand scheme of things, just like it’s only a cent, the difference between weighing 139 or 140 on a scale isn’t a large amount – it could be as little as having a small glass of water extra sloshing about in your stomach. The point it, it looks better. Funnily enough, this thought just popped into my mind…in weight loss, optics is everything.
There is some psychological satisfaction of being 139.75 pounds rather than 140.00.
But really my problem that Tuesday morning was I was not quibbling over a quarter pound – I had somehow
I know if have fought with my scale before but since I do use it as one of the ways I gauge my progress it frustrates me that it is such an un-reliable beast. I know there are other gauges, other yardsticks that I can measure my success against – unfortunately I choose, more often than not, to hop on the scale and slink back off again dejected and frustrated.
But it’s when I lose sight of the fact that this IS JUST ONE TOOL (and not the best) and then turn my frustration and dejection into an excuse to bring out the self-sabotage weaponry that I really get upset.
That’s why I was cycling with a vengeance; lights off (psychologically I think it is cooler without the light on in the room) three flashlights lighting up key spots: the back cog set (so I know what gear I’m in), the bike computer and workout sheet on my handlebars and the countdown timer on the table next to the handlebars. These three small points of light creating a mini-constellation in the shape of a “Y”.
Why indeed.
I knew why I was riding hard, in some non-religious penitence or self-flagellation. I knew the “damage” I’d done was more than just delaying the workout. It was skipping the Tuesday night workout and replacing it with all the dietary hand grenades I could find. Doubling or tripling the amount of calories I should have consumed.
And yet I did it.
Why did I, when faced with a small setback that might not even be an ACTUAL setback, just a temporary glitch in the measuring equipment, why then did I, pull the pin on the two biggest hand grenades in my arsenal – buying chocolate and skipping a workout.
Somehow, at the time, I could rationalise the purchase and rationalise the skipping of the workout. But now, the morning after, feeling the junk-food hangover and all the guilt I question my very sanity.
Why did I do it? How can I have such a dichotomous mind? Why, instead of getting angry and saying – “right scale, I’ll show you! I’m going to work twice as hard this week and you will register a loss next week.” Albeit no more sensible but in some ways far less self-destructive (if not all that much better for my mental health).
Why, instead redoubling my efforts, do I throw up my arms in defeat and turn to food and laziness.
I don’t know the answer. I don’t know why I have such a Jekyll & Hyde approach to my current weight loss efforts. I don’t know why a perfectly reasonable, sensible, intelligent and rational human being becomes a roiling mass of emotions and self-loathing at the slightest setback on the yardstick, grabbing for the hand grenades only to see sense the next day after the damage has been done.
“Is this the way it's got to be?”
I know the answer to that question is “no”.
I can change. I can improve. If I can find a way to recognise the signs of Jekyll and stay Hyde, forget the hand grenades and accept the yardstick.
It won’t be easy, it won’t be fast, but getting this far with the weight loss has been neither fast nor easy – so I should be used to the pace and the hard work. I need to remember to be patient – just breathe – as my psychiatrist would advise.
Just maybe this self-abasement; this voluntary confession will help me stay honest with my self and on-track with where I want to go. Maybe this is my first "breath".
I want to be a happier and healthier me – and that’s not all about the weight, but it is somewhat about the wait.
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