I can’t figure out which one of the terms in the title of this post is most appropriate or fitting. I can’t put my finger on the exact emotion just yet, but I know that I am struggling. Specifically, I am having a hard time with weight management.
To put it plainly — trying different approaches to nutrition and fitness, with no real tangible results is emotionally exhausting. I am seriously trying to ward off “the Fuckits.” (See my first Operation Twenty12 post to understand what that means.)
I started with the idea of ‘going primal,’ a concept developed by Mark Sisson. For one reason or another, I’m still not sure why, I drifted away from the Primal Blueprint. About a month ago, I started doing a little reading on a book by Tim Ferris called The 4 Hour Body. Intrigued by the simplicity, I ordered the book, and have attempted to follow the suggested path for weight loss and fitness. After a few weeks on the 4-Hour Body regimen, I feel no more connected to something that works for me than I did at the beginning of Operation Twenty12.
I don’t know about you, but there is nothing more deflating than to stop on a scale and see no change, or have the numbers increase. W.T.F.? I had a moment this morning where I was on the verge of tears after the digital readout appeared on the scale. I think that having to take my son to school is the only thing that kept me from staying home today. I’m calling in “sick” (with despair). It’s a long road with no end in sight.
Am I being a tad melodramatic? Perhaps. But this shit is real, and it hurts. I mean, really hurts…in a way that I had previously underestimated.
I was bending the ear of a friend at work today about this (I appreciate you listening, Francis), and while talking I was reminded of the point of Operation Twenty12. My goal was not to build Rome in a day, if you will; but, instead, give myself the entire year to make changes, improvements, tweaks, or simply engage in a healthy dose of self love. I have discovered that I am far more accepting of others than I am of myself.
What also came out of my talk with Francis is that I have a rather embarrassing streak of taking the path of least resistance. Though I’m not afraid of hard work, I do seem to find a way to get out of, or dodge, things that require a good dose of physical exertion. Back in 1985, I received an honorable discharge (medical) from the Marines while in boot camp. However, to be honest, I never pushed back too hard against the discharge because boot camp was wearing my ass out. To this day, I still feel like a quitter for not fighting through some legitimate pain to finish boot camp. I think since that time, I have probably only pushed myself once to reach a goal. In May of 2003, I was tipping the scales at almost 300 pounds. I read about the Atkins diet, and jumped in with both feet. I stayed in the Induction Phase throughout the summer, and worked out every day. By the end of the summer, I was down to 238 pounds and felt great. However, my goal was to get down to 200 pounds. I found that no matter what I did, losing more weight was seemingly impossible. Whereas I should have been patient, and transitioned into the second phase of the Atkins diet, I gave up Atkins altogether. I kept most of the weight off for over a year; only gaining seven pounds.
Subsequent to that initial experience with Atkins, I have been unable to replicate the weight loss — usually just a short-term effort. With each attempt and failure, I would get a new case of the “Fuckits!” and put on some more weight. I joined two different gyms. Again, because I have apparently become allergic to hard physical effort, I have resisted working with a trainer, or even joining the free fitness classes at the gym. When it comes to weight loss and working out, I’ve sadly opted with flight in the “fight or flight” choice.
I am sure that I am not the only person who reaches a certain point, stops to looks at his/her body, sighs heavily and thinks, “How in this hell did I get here?” If we are to be honest with ourselves, the answer is usually pretty obvious, but it doesn’t make the sense of defeat any easier to handle. Nevertheless, I am going to do my best to get back into the spirit of Operation Twenty12, and shake off feeling sorry for myself. I know that feeling emotionally and physically defeated can be overcome, but I may need more help that I imagined.
If you have any advice for me, or want to share how you turned dread and defeat into personal victory, please do so in the comments. I
want need to hear from you.