Destruction is easier than Structure. – Me, in the midst of a rant on my failures.
You’ve brought me much joy. Bagel. Butter. Cheese. Appetite. Munchies.
Late night munchies, filled with random concoctions from this eclectic kitchen of ours. I usually end up with a Nutella/Cream Cheese bagel or cheese slices in a bagel for a quick fix. Then come the chocolates, the candies, the cookies and the pastries. If it’s early enough then burgers, poutines and pizza are at my disposal.
Which leads me to today. 26 years old, and I got high cholesterol. The cholesterol levels of an obese person, according to my doctor.
I’m not fat though. I’m not even chubby! I used to be fat, and knowing my body – I can get there fairly quickly. Now I’m just skinny-fat. Like flabby a little, but not totally out of shape. I look and feel OK, much better than I did a year ago when I weighed 185lbs and looked 5 months pregnant. I’m 155lbs today but apparently in horrible physical condition.
Fuck. My doctor actually said ‘if you don’t change your lifestyle, quit smoking, start exercising and change your diet, you’re gonna get a heart attack in the next 2 years’. He then specified that he’s not just trying to scare me, that this is fucking serious (he said ‘fucking’. he’s awesome like that).
Having been shaken up, these are the type of moments when I usually take drastic measures. My problem has never been to take action – that’s fine. It’s the sticking-to-it-ness that I severely lack, the keeping up. The structure, the discipline, the will to sacrifice.
I’ve always [gotten by] and have never pushed myself to excel. The bare minimum was always sufficient – it got the job done and allowed me to have that much more time to myself. To eat, chill, do nothing.
So I decided to hire the services of my friend, Fitness Coach and Episode 4 guest Paul Mihalescu to whip me back into shape. As of tomorrow, I’m starting a new life. I’ve got a whole new eating regimen, workout plan, gym membership, the whole 9. I’m supposed to go into this with a ‘can do’ attitude but a part of me doubts. That’s the voice that tries to make me stop, that reminds me of every single time I’ve failed. Every time I’ve given up. Every time I sold myself, my goals and my convictions to those who believed in me, and did nothing – quickly. I proved them right, those who just knew I was a fuck up. This is not just about food and exercise, this is absolutely about Me and where I need to be. Who I have to be. The Life I need to Live. Stop fucking up.
So I say goodbye to ice cream and chocolate syrup, PB&J sandwiches, All-You-Can-Froot–Loops marathons. Oh, and after 10 years of smoking cigarettes, I finally started my Champix treatment last week, so I’ll be kicking this habit in no time. In hopes that jogging gets a little easier over time, without the feeling of my lungs taking a shit in my chest cavity after a minute of light jog.
Jesus Christ, I’ve destroyed my body through these years. Fucking abused it. It was so much easier to let it rot than to maintain it through discipline, hard work and structure. But now I gotta pay for it.
I gotta get my shit right. Gotta get my life straight.