Masochistic?
So, I decided, in the back of my convoluted little gryphonic brain that okay, fine, the whole overweight thing has gone on long enough. Mind, I did that six months ago, at least? When just walking and keeping an eye on my diet didn't do much (well, okay, it got me down one size in jeans, but the weight didn't drop) I went and had a chat with my doctor.
My blood work says everything's... normal. Cholesterol, blood sugar, thyroid, etc, etc, etc. But I was having fun times where, if I hadn't eaten lately, or what I'd eaten had too much sugar, my blood sugar would fall through the floor. Headache, tired, dizzy -- I got the shakes twice. That was unnerving. It's a lovely little thing called hypoglycemia. Bleah. Don't recommend it.
But apparently somewhere I got serious about taking the weight off this time. Probably when my doctor mentioned that that kind of insulin overproduction is frequently a warning of incipient diabetes.
I'd much, much rather make time to work out than play with blood sugar gauges and insulin shots. So I joined a gym, and I've been playing on weight machines again and swimming laps since my torn calf won't let me walk, which is how I'd gotten the first size of jeans down... And you know? I'd forgotten how much fun lifting weights is. (Well, I like it, but I'm aware I'm a little strange.)
There's something... satisfying about being able to go play on weights for 30-45 minutes, and I'm steadily increasing the variety of machines I work on, and then go on to do the same amount of time in the pool. It's not a horribly fast breast stroke, and it's not the kind of form that would make my old swim coach happy, but I managed to do 20 laps with no break today. After an hour of weights.
So, I guess I'm feeling pleased, and smug, and grateful for my muses. They have a... variety of ways of encouraging me. Some of them [Alex and Xan] just encourage me. Some of 'em [Stormy] talk to me while I swim. Some of 'em [Damien] tease me about my swimming. A couple of them [Connor, damn it, and Matthew] threaten me if I *stop*, if only with 'I told you so'. One of 'em [Ish] simply said if I didn't swim, I was getting pinched, and no, I *wouldn't* like it.
But my blood sugar hasn't bottomed out in weeks. I haven't had so much as a cold in months.
So the sore muscles are worth it.
Wonder if that makes me masochistic?
My blood work says everything's... normal. Cholesterol, blood sugar, thyroid, etc, etc, etc. But I was having fun times where, if I hadn't eaten lately, or what I'd eaten had too much sugar, my blood sugar would fall through the floor. Headache, tired, dizzy -- I got the shakes twice. That was unnerving. It's a lovely little thing called hypoglycemia. Bleah. Don't recommend it.
But apparently somewhere I got serious about taking the weight off this time. Probably when my doctor mentioned that that kind of insulin overproduction is frequently a warning of incipient diabetes.
I'd much, much rather make time to work out than play with blood sugar gauges and insulin shots. So I joined a gym, and I've been playing on weight machines again and swimming laps since my torn calf won't let me walk, which is how I'd gotten the first size of jeans down... And you know? I'd forgotten how much fun lifting weights is. (Well, I like it, but I'm aware I'm a little strange.)
There's something... satisfying about being able to go play on weights for 30-45 minutes, and I'm steadily increasing the variety of machines I work on, and then go on to do the same amount of time in the pool. It's not a horribly fast breast stroke, and it's not the kind of form that would make my old swim coach happy, but I managed to do 20 laps with no break today. After an hour of weights.
So, I guess I'm feeling pleased, and smug, and grateful for my muses. They have a... variety of ways of encouraging me. Some of them [Alex and Xan] just encourage me. Some of 'em [Stormy] talk to me while I swim. Some of 'em [Damien] tease me about my swimming. A couple of them [Connor, damn it, and Matthew] threaten me if I *stop*, if only with 'I told you so'. One of 'em [Ish] simply said if I didn't swim, I was getting pinched, and no, I *wouldn't* like it.
But my blood sugar hasn't bottomed out in weeks. I haven't had so much as a cold in months.
So the sore muscles are worth it.
Wonder if that makes me masochistic?