Oh vey. As you can probably guess, I haven't been doing so well. In September, I got some news from my parents that kind of rocked me. I can't share what that news was, but I can say that things are much better now.
Anyways, I stopped exercising and eating right and started seeing a counselor. The two aren't necessarily related, but they happened in conjunction with one another. Let me start off with this: counseling is for everyone. It doesn't make you weak or a failure or any less of a person. In fact, I believe it's the opposite. It makes you strong. It means you're a fighter. It shows that you have the courage to reach out and get help. I thoroughly recommend it for anyone, no matter what you're dealing with. Sometimes it's just helpful to talk to someone who has no prior knowledge of your life.
April and I have made some pretty significant progress. My relationship with my parents, especially my mom, has significantly improved. I'm more confident than I was before. But the biggest thing that we learned (that I think I always knew on some level but never really accepted) is that I'm a perfectionist. Big shocker, right? We discovered the root of my perfectionism and worked on not letting that rule my life. I'm not "cured" (for lack of a better word), but I am better equipped to deal with my issues as they pop up. I've learned techniques for when my anxiety starts to build, for when I feel like I've failed, and for when I can't focus or start something because I'm so overwhelmed.
There's one area that we've hardly made progress in, and that's my health and fitness. For some reason, I always hit a wall with H&F. I *WANT* to be healthy. I *WANT* to be fit. But I never seem to make it beyond a few days/weeks/months. I never knew why. I thought I just wasn't meant to be H&F. That I didn't have what it takes to get there. That my body would never do that. That everyone else can do it but I will always fail.
Fail. The real F-word in my life.
Even as I write this, I can feel my chest squeezing. I'm having trouble breathing. My head is screaming, "STOP TYPING! ERASE THIS AND PRETEND IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!" Putting this "on paper" is incredibly difficult; putting this on the internet is ten million times more so. Failure has ruled my life for so long. We had a discussion in small group a few weeks ago about whether we would rather try and fail or not try at all. Most people would rather try and fail, because then at least they knew that they'd done something.
Not me. The idea of trying and failing terrifies me. The risk of failing isn't worth the effort, even though there's a possibility of reward, ie. succeeding. My life reads like a how-to book for avoiding failure. There are a lot of things that I never did because I was scared.
Circling back, I think that's why I've never succeeded in my H&F journey. I can't remember if I've written this before, but I've always been afraid of losing weight, getting to where I want to be... and then ending up back where I started, or worse. Last year, I decided to change my perspective: even if that does happen, I'll have succeeded before, so I could do it again! Unfortunately, this perspective only lasts so long before doubt and fear creep back in.
April and I have talked a good bit about this. I've tried several different "diets" and workout programs and the lot, but nothing has stuck. Insanity: Max 30, Cize, BodyWorks, step class, running, 21 Day Fix... I start off okay, but the moment I mess up, I throw in the towel. I quit. Why? Because in my mind, I've failed. The goal is perfection, and once I've ruined that, it's not worth pursuing anymore.
So I've decided to try something new. Last month, two of my friends ran half marathons. April (not my counselor) ran her third, the Snickers half in my hometown, and Victoria ran her first. Victoria started training in January. JANUARY. She's never been a distance runner, but she was persistent and consistent and she killed it. That day I decided, I want to do that. I want to run a half. I've always wanted to do the Disney Princess half at WDW, so I made a promise to myself: I will run that next February. I had almost exactly a year to train. I was gonna do this.
My church is having a 5k on April 30th, so I decided to train for that with the goal of running the entire thing. I've only ever done that once, and I was much lighter then. Plus that race was at night and in the cold, aka my ideal running environment, so it was easier. Anyways. I downloaded a running schedule designed to build up my endurance so that I could run the entire 3.1 miles. I run on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I do a long walk on Saturdays. Each week, I increase my distance on Mondays and Fridays. I started with 1.5 miles, and that was hard, but I did it. Yesterday I ran 2 miles straight, and I felt like I could've gone further. This is the third week of training, and I haven't missed a single run. I'm pretty proud of myself. Even when I had a headache or that time of the month or small group, I made it happen. I'm not worrying about my food at this point; I've learned that I can only focus on one thing at a time. Any more than that leaves too much room for failure. Once the running becomes routine, then I can start focusing on food.
After the 5k, I'll start training for a 10k. I'm hoping to get a number for the Peachtree in July. Then I'll do another 10k+ in October/November, a 15k in January, and the half at the end of February. At least, that's the plan. Then who knows? Maybe a marathon is in my (WAAAAAAAAY distant) future.
