May 4th, 2012: We’re a culture of “right now”. You want it and you want it “right now”. I have to agree, hell, I’m caught up in it myself a lot of the time. What I’m learning, though, is that those of us on this journey for the long haul are fighting our way out of that type of thinking. For the better, I’m sure of it.
It’s not that we don’t want it, we do, it’s just that we’ve come to realize, and fight for, the idea that something good and true generally takes a little time. What I struggle with is trying to balance what the definition of a “little time” is. Is it a month? A year? I hear myself saying to myself, “You only have so much time here on Earth, why are you fighting urges every day, just give in, give in, give in . . .”
For me, on this weight loss journey, that, of course, would mean saying “Fuck this shit, I’m gonna’ eat and drink and be merry”. I’ve lost a lot of people very close to me, and they were too young to die. I hope they got the most out of their short time here. So I’ve reconciled myself (or at least I’m working on it) to realizing that, yes, I could give in, and eat and drink and be merry, but in reality, to do that day in and day out is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
In order to truly enjoy our time here, that happiness has to come in doses, and those doses are much more effective when we struggle a little bit to get them. I think there’s a personal level of how much we’re willing to give in order to get. I’m establishing my level every day, and with that, I seem to be maturing a little bit, too. Who says you can’t teach me new tricks? Who knew that to struggle to lose weight would impart such a life lesson?
I gained 3 lbs. in one day, back in the 70’s to 272, and I absolutely shredded my 2 workouts yesterday, so I need to daydream: I need to take that rafting trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. That’s a bucket-list thing. Had the opportunity to go one time, but envisioned my 300+ lb. fat-ass self as being too much of liability to everyone else, and so declined. Next time, I’m going.
May 4th, 2020: I entered a race with my horse one time. It was a kind of endurance race up through the Wolverine Canyon country where the object wasn’t to win by being the first rider done, the winner was the rider who kept the steadiest pace. The details are lost on my memory, but I still think about how difficult that was to maintain that pace over a long day of riding.
There are so many things to get caught up in with life that maintaining an ordered pace sometimes seems to be harder than going at a full sprint for as long as you can, and then coming to a screeching halt to evaluate how far you went at full speed. And then being done.
Jumping rope, rattling a speed bag, and using a balance-board at the gym require me to maintain concentration for 3 minutes at a time. That’s roughly the amount of time, give or take, to avoid banging the wrong keys while I play a song on the piano. These activities, such a blink of an eye, but still so hard for me. Imagine now, the difficulty of facing down 8 years of concentrating just as hard as I can on not becoming obese again. It’s a daily tightrope across a wide span, over a long fall with only concrete below. And it scares the shit out of me. Failure to maintain this is worse than splattering all over the sidewalk.
It’s scary, and every time I have a 2 or 3 pound gain it feels like the crosswind that makes the tightrope walker go “whoa steady there” and feel his heart rate increase for a second or two. Only belief makes it possible – belief in the program for sure, and the house-of-cards belief in myself that I can do this, earn this, and keep this. Having failed miserably at dieting before makes you realize that all it takes is a stumble or two and the wolves have bitten through your hamstring and now it’s going to be become difficult to fight to stay alive. Eyes wide open always.
