Getting Down To It

The ghostPeople...

I'm finding it difficult to break free of that honey trap. I arose at what's becoming my usual 4:15am time and was banging on the elliptical doing intervals for forty-five minutes by 5:15, annoying awesomeGirl because I was on her machine. I use to get up at 5:15, ::rueful smile::

I did 9/12 or 13, I can't remember, for the rest/work and the heart chart reflects that. Not as spiky as I'd like, with big spikes in the HR to show that yes, Bill truly suffered for his heart.

My routines are now blown, I'm sitting here... well actually laying on the floor in our house hammering this entry out at 8:12pm but more on that later. Anyone who knows me, knows I do not like variation in The Routine. But every now and then you get to the point where you start pitching things out of the plane just trying to keep it in the air.

Dead weight, though that's not a fair analogy.

You (well me anyway) begin focusing on The Core of what's important. Something's gotta give, will it be flossing or gym? Flossing goes. That was easy, who needs teeth? But what if I get to the point of The Job or The Gym? Adios gym. I'm not there and I don't think I will be (things on some fronts are getting much better) during this spike in madness but I'm running out of crap to throw out of the plane. So now it's getting interesting. I'm getting to The Core.

Like I mentioned above I'm way late on this entry so obviously the blog will go before the gym. In a way this exercise in stress is helping me pair down to what to me is The Core. But I have discovered I love writing in this thing so I'm typing while exhausted and kinda digging it, yeah I'm weird.

What I'm thinking about is my son's comment yesterday, "Ah yes, the fruits of my labor" and my new found affinity for italics and capitalization in this post. I have put in so much effort and behavior modification to lose my namby-pamby twenty eight pounds that I don't want to revert back to The Old Ways. I want to hold tightly onto the fruits of my labor.

I've learned while I'm stressing and worrying about things I have no control over that I absolutely love chocolate brownies! I fight the losing battle, walking by the pan, stalking it, increasing want and need written all over my face. I'll eat a banana and fifteen minutes later my eye's will appear, cat like, over the edge of the counter probing the brownies for weakness. I'll eat a pear and fifteen minutes later I'll be pacing in front of the pan of chewy chocolate damnation before giving in and cutting a slice the size of Idaho and wolfing it down. And this isn't my wife's or family's problem, it's mine to own so if there weren't brownies there would be something else, I mean face facts I have an eleven and fourteen year old in the house. A key part of their diet is Twizzlers.

sigh

So I have a mild case of The Fear. Like the previous dudes I read about from The Biggest Loser, who put it all back on. I worry that I may hit the point where I have to throw The Gym out the cargo door to keep the plane up because nothing must threaten The Job. And I know it would be temporary but what I don't know, what I don't have confidence in... yet... is would I come back?

Because The Old Ways are the easy ways and yes I derive an incredible amount of pleasure from The Gym and those who inhabit it but make no mistake about it, this is WORK and you have to want it. Like all precious things it isn't something to be handed to you, it's something to earn.

Would I come back?

I don't want to have to leave and find out.

Later gators!