It seems I’ve let myself go. I haven’t started wearing sweat pants in public and still wear a single digit size but trust me when I say I’ve slipped. I used to feel better, had more energy and was all around more productive. But then I let myself slide. I was a 5 workouts a week girl. I had a relationship with a fish monger and a yoga instructor. Vegetables were my friends. Now my workouts are so rare that the folks at the gym no longer say “Hi” but rather “Where’ve you been?” The only fish I’ve eaten in months has been drenched in mayonnaise and accompanied by potato chips. Yoga has become yogurt…frozen with jimmies. You never realize how far you’ve gone until it will require effort to get yourself back. You get your car fixed only once the strange noise is embarrassingly loud, the house gets painted when the half the singles need to be replaced and you don’t get your eyes checked until you mistake your wife for the salesman in tool section of Sears.
So this morning in my attempt to repair all I have broken in the last year, I went to the gym at 5 AM. What used to be my normal routine was now burdensome and difficult. 5 AM was earlier than it was, the weights were heavier than they were and the soreness came sooner than it once did. Now I sit here hungrier than I should be because the giant muffin I’d usually eat was replaced by oatmeal and all I have to look forward to is a salad for lunch instead of a sandwich. These things are not strangers to me. I like oatmeal and salad and I even like starting my day early, or at least I used to. But what were once familiar friends seem like vicious strangers, simple pleasures now punishments. I know that a in a few weeks if I stick to my plan I will be on my way back to where I’ve been which ultimately is a better place. However, until I really feel that positive that I know will be the result, I will hungry, sore and probably crabby. Bear with me.