DAYS 79-93

Well, it's been another two weeks since I took pen to paper, and I have to admit...I'm embarrassed about it. The last time I checked in, I was convinced my wallowing was over, and I'd signed up for Class Pass and felt ready to tackle my goals.

Except, my brain and body didn't agree on that. After signing up for my first class, I was nervous but excited. I was going to try out a pilates class - something I had wanted to try for YEARS. Now was my time! But when it came time to actually go to the class, anxiety took over. I was short of breath with sharp chest pains, and an overwhelming sense of nausea set in. I tried to breathe through the panic. I used all my best tricks - counting down from 100, my slow belly breathing, and (my personal favorite) telling Rory what's happening. Nothing seemed to work. Even when I was able to catch my breath, the nausea intensified. I didn't know what to do. Thinking I wasn't up for pilates in the near future, I canceled my class and the panic IMMEDIATELY subsided. 

I spent the rest of the night sulking.

The next day, I had planned to go to a Spinning class with my friend who is obsessed with the studio I'd booked. She was jazzed, and I was too! Spin sounded like a ball. I already loved the stationary bike. But add a room with some motivational leaders and some fun music, it sounded right up my alley. Of course, an hour before the class, though, my dreaded panic set in again. Determined not to let my friend down, I made it to the studio. I asked the teacher to help me set up my bike (because apparently that's a huge ordeal), I put on my spin shoes and I was ready to go!

What I realized over the course of that class, though, is that I was NOT ready to go. Oh my god, was I out of my league or what. What I hadn't realized about spin is that there's not much sitting on your stationary bike, and my body just wasn't strong enough to hold myself up like that yet. My knees ached from standing, and when I took a few minutes to sit, the seat immediately dug into my butt (pretty sure I'm still bruised down there). There were times when the class felt so long that I didn't know if I was going to make it through. All the joints and muscles in my body revolted, despite everyone around me looking like they were having the time of their life. By the end of the hour, my body was drenched in sweat - literally every surface of my body was sweating (including the backs of my hands which I legitimately didn't know COULD sweat). And I felt defeated. I had been working out for nearly three months, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. I was still REALLY out of shape.

I will say that in the hour following spin, my endorphins reached such an all time high that I thought the whole thing might be like giving childbirth, that I'd magically forget the torture of the class and only remember the resulting high. But...alas, I don't have spin amnesia, and I don't think I'll be ready to take another stab at it any time soon.

In fact, since the disaster of the spin class, I've been too intimidated and upset to try another class. And that really bums me out. I feel a little defeated, to be honest. Every time I try and make myself work out, I make a slew of excuses about what I could be doing instead. Which has resulted in a solid week and a half of me rewatching all of Gilmore Girls on Netflix and not much else. 

Ultimately, I'm giving myself a break. That doesn't mean I'm going to continue being a lump on my couch for whatever show comes after my Gilmore Girls rewatch, but it does mean I'm not going to shame myself for doing what I need to do. The next few weeks are going to be a time of immense change for me. I'm going to be leaving my first solo grownup apartment and move back into a roommate situation. I'm going to leave behind West Hollywood, which has been my neighborhood for the past six years. I'm going to sell or get rid of a lot of my stuff that I've accumulated and start fresh. And I'm going to hopefully find a part time job I can stay with for the foreseeable future to supplement my writers' assistant income and be able to not stress about paying my bills. I mean, that's a LOT of stuff to do. For anyone, much less someone who's going through their first real breakup. 

But, holding myself accountable and recognizing my feelings is the first step to getting back on track. I figure that if I keep telling myself I'm going to do this that I'll be able to Secret it into existence (that's how that works, right?). Since acknowledging my lack of interest in exercising right now, I've started taking long walks. Just around the block, nothing high impact. But something to get me out of my apartment and on my feet. I'm hoping that I'll be able to push myself back into a regular exercise routine sooner rather than later, but I'm not beating myself up about it either. Mostly because I know I'm not giving up.

A few months ago, if I'd encountered something like this, I would have been off exercise for the long haul, completely uninterested in maintaining my healthy eating, but I know I have to do this. So....that's what I'm going to do. 

DAYS 54-62

I have written and rewritten this post so many times over the past week, but seeing as it's now over a week from my last post, I decided it was time to do it. I have a bad habit of shutting down and avoiding problems when I don't want to deal with them. You'd think I'd have learned to be better about it by now, but I'm not. When I started this, I promised full transparency regarding my eating and exercise habits, but I didn't anticipate that it would also force me to be honest with my emotions. But today marks 2 months on this journey, and I knew I had to write something. Anything. So, here it is.

After coming home from an amazing trip in San Fransisco (two days of which I didn't even write about but will summarize by saying I wish I could go back immediately), I was forced to deal with a major life change: the end of my year and a half long relationship with my live in boyfriend. I'm not going to discuss the why or the how because that's not really relevant to anything, and as much as I'd love to air my feelings out through my writing, that's not particularly fair to the other party involved. But what I will admit is how hard it's been.

Our fitness schedules had been synched up, and to realize that it might not be the best idea to continue going to the gym together gave me an excuse not to stick to my exercise plan. On Monday I did a medium intensity cardio session on the stationary bike in my apartment complex gym (aka, three machines in the basement). On Tuesday it rained and I gave myself the day off. Wednesday I forced myself to do the hike I'd originally planned for the day before, and after being bed bound with food poisoning on Thursday, I allowed myself to take the rest of the week off.

Deep inside, I knew my excuses weren't super valid. On Tuesday instead of my hike I could have easily gone to the gym instead. And instead of hanging out at home like a lump on a log or trying to distract myself, I could have put my frustration and energy into my work outs. But I didn't. Instead, I hid. This was also made more difficult by a slight change in my work schedule. While I was in San Fransisco, the woman I was working for underwent some medical emergency and told me she needed to hire an RN for full time care, only to come back four days later and ask if I could work full time again. I had resigned myself to the fact that it was a sign, and maybe I was meant to focus on my health this summer right before she asked for me back, and it felt a bit like whiplash. With my emotions already all over the place, I wished for consistency, so I said yes to full time again. But now I'm having my original doubts all over again. Will I have enough time to exercise? What about food prep?

I will say that I have remained on my food plan this week. With one notable exception. I was actually pretty proud of myself. I stayed within my calorie count, I didn't overindulge in sad breakup food. The most I did was to order Thai food on Wednesday night (not even an unhealthy curry or noodle dish...), and of course was struck down by food poisoning for all of Thursday.

On Friday I finally forced myself to get out of the apartment. After four days of sitting at home and sulking, I was ready to see the light of day. But as soon as I was out, I found myself plagued by anxiety. Then the though of returning home doubled that anxiety. The truth is, my motivation has had to take a backseat to some bigger things this week. It's been rough. I haven't weighed myself, I haven't come up with a new exercise plan. Nothing. I should have been so excited this week, coming up on the second month of this journey, but I had other things on my mind. Things like finding a new apartment, looking for a roommate, finding alternative ways to make money, and figuring out how to share my living space with my ex until we can find other places to stay. Big things.

I know it sounded like I've fallen off the train, but I haven't. I swear I haven't fallen off of the train. I'm merely waiting at the platform, hoping to catch the next one (terrible metaphor but I'm running low on brain capacity). Because my health is so important to me, and I don't want this journey to take a back seat. It can't. I just have to figure out how to make the brain space for all of it. And I know I can.

As always, let's keep doing this.