Heel turn
It's all written out neat and orderly.
The calendar is filled out. The alarms set. Workout clothes set out. Goal in mind.
This is the year I'll really do it. I'll keep my diet in check. I'll stick to my workouts. Go to my Weight Watchers meetings.
I'll make this happen.
The voice in my head is upbeat. Positive. Encouraging.
I'm tired of my stomach. Tired of being tired. Tired of my ITP. Tired of insomnia. Tired of being insecure. Ready to make some permanent changes. I've got this.
It lasts a couple of weeks.
A week of early mornings. Pre-planned meals. My type A brain revelling in the organization I've put into this step of my life.
I lose weight. My clothes fit better. I have more energy. My platelets bounce up. I can do anything.
I get lazy. I get cocky. I get busy.
The voice goes from positive and encouraging to nagging and braggy.
'You've lost this much weight already, what's one cookie going to hurt?' 'Ooh, donuts at work.'
I tell myself if I track it, it'll be fine. Or I'll just run harder tomorrow. Or I'll just keep sliding down that slope.
When the alarm goes off, 'you worked out twice this week, missing one won't hurt you.'
I become my own worst enemy. My sabatouer. Shouldn't I have my own back?
Eventually I stop getting up at the crack of dawn every day to go to the gym. Skip my meal prepping for a movie or reading a book.
One cookie becomes a dozen. Discipline becomes disappointment.
My clothes stop fitting better. My brain is foggy. My energy is low.
I buy handfuls of candy and eat in the car. Fast food becomes my grocery store. I feel gross and fat and ashamed. I eat more sugar.
I'm lethargic. I wear leggings everywhere. Leave my hair up in a bun. Screw make up. I want to disappear.
I have no one to blame but myself.
It lasts a few weeks.
Then it's back. The positive voice in my head. Encouraging my to try again.
'Going for a run will clear your brain. That yoga class will help you relax.'
And the cycle begins again.
The calendar is filled out. The alarms set. Workout clothes set out. Goal in mind.
This is the year I'll really do it. I'll keep my diet in check. I'll stick to my workouts. Go to my Weight Watchers meetings.
I'll make this happen.
The voice in my head is upbeat. Positive. Encouraging.
I'm tired of my stomach. Tired of being tired. Tired of my ITP. Tired of insomnia. Tired of being insecure. Ready to make some permanent changes. I've got this.
It lasts a couple of weeks.
A week of early mornings. Pre-planned meals. My type A brain revelling in the organization I've put into this step of my life.
I lose weight. My clothes fit better. I have more energy. My platelets bounce up. I can do anything.
I get lazy. I get cocky. I get busy.
The voice goes from positive and encouraging to nagging and braggy.
'You've lost this much weight already, what's one cookie going to hurt?' 'Ooh, donuts at work.'
I tell myself if I track it, it'll be fine. Or I'll just run harder tomorrow. Or I'll just keep sliding down that slope.
When the alarm goes off, 'you worked out twice this week, missing one won't hurt you.'
I become my own worst enemy. My sabatouer. Shouldn't I have my own back?
Eventually I stop getting up at the crack of dawn every day to go to the gym. Skip my meal prepping for a movie or reading a book.
One cookie becomes a dozen. Discipline becomes disappointment.
My clothes stop fitting better. My brain is foggy. My energy is low.
I buy handfuls of candy and eat in the car. Fast food becomes my grocery store. I feel gross and fat and ashamed. I eat more sugar.
I'm lethargic. I wear leggings everywhere. Leave my hair up in a bun. Screw make up. I want to disappear.
I have no one to blame but myself.
It lasts a few weeks.
Then it's back. The positive voice in my head. Encouraging my to try again.
'Going for a run will clear your brain. That yoga class will help you relax.'
And the cycle begins again.