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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Nordic Demon
Yes, it's about diet and exercise. But it's about other things, too. I went to the gym today and I have to tell you: Cardio was crazy easy. Normally, I despise cardio because it's normally so incredibly boring. So...boring. But today? Today I did forty beautiful minutes and only made myself stop so as not to overdose on endorphins. And this was after lifting for forty minutes. This crazy body of mine. I'll tell you, with only 20 pounds to go until I reach my goal, exercise has become a pleasure, but eating? Eating is threatening to become somewhat problematic because I keep having to stop myself from thinking that it would be that much easier to get to goal if I just stopped eating. Yeah, I know that's not a good idea, and in fact I have started to make myself eat more in response, but it's still a thought that enters my head and I have to monitor to make sure that I don't let it become a "normal" thought. Like today, after all that cardio (which only burned 400 calories after all), I was hungry. I had a banana, knowing that that was just to hold me until I could get a meal. But I kept putting off eating and putting off eating until I began to get lightheaded whenever I stood up. Then I finally had a turkey sandwich (on one slice of bread, with lettuce and tomato and mustard) and a salad and cookie and lots and lots of coffee. That's a pretty big meal for me anymore, and I probably won't eat for the rest of the day. (I had toast with peanut butter and jelly on it this morning, two bananas, and a little bit of sushi before the gym, so it's not like I'm not eating at all.) Anyway, I'm becoming pretty inured to people's comments about my losing weight. It's not like anyone noticed the first hundred pounds. It was a bit of a shock, you can well imagine, that I dropped one hundred pounds and got, like, two comments from two people I don't know very well. But the last sixty pounds have netted me a lot of being checked out by people who I would not otherwise have scoping and commenting on my body. It's not that it makes me hugely uncomfortable, because having grown up with large tits, I'm pretty used to men at least talking to my nipples and not to my face, but now people have gone into some kind of specialized mode in which they think it's okay to check out my body and make comments like, "Oh, look at you!" or, worse, "I'm so proud of you!" (I fucking hate when people say that they're proud of me because I'm smaller. It's, like, get a fucking clue. Why don't you pay attention to the things about me that truly matter and that don't include my appearance? This is not something I did to make you proud, by the fucking way.) So I usually take great pains to and great pleasure in reminding them that my weighing less should perhaps take a backseat to my, you know, having graduated in December with two degrees. That usually shuts them up. If not because they're embarrassed at having been so rude, at least because they realize that I'm not, you know, just falling-over-myself glad that they're proud of me for something so inconsequential. Stupid fucks.) But I have worked hard at it despite my being reluctant to deal with praise. (And no, I'm not a complete ogre about people's compliments. I don't mind hearing, "You look great!" or any of a number of comments that would have made me beam a hundred plus pounds ago.) I do work hard. I am addicted to exercise. I am reluctant to feed on crap. (And that includes the crap attitudes of others.) Taking care of myself is what it's all about right now. I'm trying my best to prioritize so that my health comes first, not my looks. I'm sure I'll rant more about this at some point. Or maybe even explain what it was that set me off in the first place. But not at the moment. Right now, I'm going to a movie. (Oh, yeah, I bought the shirt. And, oh, yeah, it looks good. All I need is a too short black skirt, a too tight black blazer, some stiletto heels, and the A. Duran Milton Conference Memorial Outfit is ready for the nearest Catholic church, baby.)
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