It's funny how fragile this whole thing is. As stated, I took Friday off to get ready for the party, and Saturday off to recover from it. Sunday was my usual off-day, and Monday, rather than go work out, I decided to run some errands and get some other things done. By my logic, this would make it easier to get my gym time in.
Yesterday, I actually got home early, and worked from home for a couple of hours. As the clock approached five, I knew I had to get up, get dressed, and go. But I didn't want to.
Then I heard it. That soft voice that pulled at me like a siren's call. The voice of Fat Dave. Quitter Dave. Weak Dave. That voice said, "Stay home. You're too tired. Lie down on the couch and nap. You don't want to go outside in the heat."
I nearly fell for it. I even lay down on the couch for a few moments. I thought, "I'm hungry, I'm sleepy, I'm stressed out. I don't need this. I can stay home and vege out."
But then I heard another voice. A new voice, one I'm still not familiar with. Fit Dave. Finisher Dave. Strong Dave. That voice said, "You need to get up and go. You'll hate yourself if you don't. You've got a goal to reach, and you won't get there by laying around day after day. Get up. You'll feel better afterward."
I still wasn't sure if I could trust that second voice, but I got up and went to the gym. I did another elliptical session, 33 minutes, 2 miles. Felt like a lighter workout somehow. Worked up a good lather, though, so I felt good about that.
Here's the crazy thing. As I stumbled out the doors of the gym, across the parking lot toward my truck, under the fading dusk and the halogen glow, I felt like an athlete. I ignored the reality of my bouncing gut, my wobbly arms, my cankles, my bulbous and fatty knees, my double-wide backside. I was exhausted but I actually felt like I did back in high school, walking off a football field or basketball court. Winded, weary, but satisfied.
Turns out Fit Dave was right. I did feel good.
This week, I've started second-guessing myself. I've started wondering what madness I experienced, signing up for a half-marathon. It seems like my walks are getting shorter, not longer. And I'm not losing any weight, which is frustrating as can be. (I'm pretty sure this has everything to do with diet, and that's an area I'm still really lazy in. I haven't "pointed" anything in a week or two.)
But the doubts are now creeping in. This is usually the time in any new fad of mine where my interest flags and I give up. Actually, for diet and fitness things, this is approaching one of the longest streaks of my post-collegiate life. The best I ever did was six months of militant Weight Watchers adherence, which got me a net loss of 60 pounds (lasting about 6 months after that point).
Don't get nervous, I'm not giving up. I'm in this for the long haul, and I hope by the grace of God to be typing here at this very site, a year from now, two, three even, and rejoice in the fact that I was able to accomplish so much.
I'm just documenting this first wave of self-doubt. Hopefully, in order to get it out of my system and move on.
I'm going to set a doctor appointment soon, to get a quick mid-year check-up before really ramping up the training. Not looking forward to that. See, I promised him that the next time I saw him, I'd have lost 100 pounds, and if I hadn't, we'd seriously talk about weight-loss surgery. I shook on it with him. I don't want to go back, six months later, with only 20 (...16) pounds lost, talking all this noise about half-marathons. I want to be able to show him results. But on the other hand, I know I need to get his sign-off, to make myself feel better if nothing else. That would give me all the reassurance I need to press on into this, to get more intense about training, so that I can reach the very high but not out of reach goals I've set for myself.
I'm starving. Seriously hungry. Time to grab some grub and then hit the track.