Last night I hopped in my van at 8 o clock and headed for The All Wimmins Gym. It was cold and raining and I had absolutely NO desire to go to the gym. However, I HAVE to go to the gym because HELLO… ALL OF THIS.
Yeah.
That 10 pounds I put back on turned into 15 pounds, then into 20 pounds, then into 25 pounds. With every pound I’d put on, I’d say to myself “it’s not that big of a deal, I can lose it again! Just let me finish this last piece of Kahlua Cream Cheese Pie and this glass of Sangria and watching The Office and I SWEAR when I’m done eating all of these unhealthy things and watching all of these television programs here on the couch, I will get my fat ass back to the gym.
Tomorrow.
Scratch that, tomorrow’s Friday and that means we’ll probably go out for pizza and beer after the boys basketball game, so let’s make it Monday. Yes! Monday! I will start all over again and I will go back to the gym and eat fruit and count points and and and!
Did I say THIS Monday? Because I meant next Monday because this Monday I’m going to make a chocolate cake for Tony and well, I WANT CAKE and there’s no use in starting on Tuesday, so I’ll start NEXT Monday.
For sure.
I promise.
Honestly.
STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT. I SAID I WILL START ON MONDAY AND I MEAN IT! Except, did I say NEXT Monday? Because I totally meant the Monday AFTER next Monday!
I’ve been doing this for, oh, I don’t know, the past 6 months? I would have moments of determination, (I WILL lose this weight! I can do it! I am strong and I have done it before!) but then Tony would be all “Hey! Let’s go out for fish tacos and dessert and wine!!” and I’d be all “You know, being fat isn’t the end of the world...LET’S GO!”
I wasn’t happy about my weight gain, but I wasn’t that upset about it either because I was really enjoying NOT going to the gym every night and also The Pies, but then, I started to feel really shitty. Like, “depressed” shitty.
I’ve suffered through a severe depression before. I know the symptoms. I've not talked about it because I didn't want to believe that it was happening.
I realized that things were starting to take a dark turn when I found myself weeping like a little asshole on Valentines Day over the fact that my husband didn’t kiss me before he left for work (and also because he stopped on the way home from work and bought me a $5.00 box of assorted chocolates and HE KNOWS I HATE ASSORTED CHOCOLATES.)
Here’s the thing. I haven’t cried over Valentines Day since the first year we were married and my husband gave me a box of chocolate that he got for half price! From the candy store where his sister worked! when I was on a “no sugar” diet! I just learned to accept that PigHunter only has one romantic “Bone” in his body and that bone isn’t very smart and doesn’t know how to do things like “buy presents ahead of time” or “write romantic love notes.” (But that Bone sure does know how to Stuff My Enchilada, so I forgive it.) So, when I found myself crying over a stupid box of chocolates, I KNEW that I had to address “The Issue.”
I finally opened up to my husband and used the “D” word over a delicious loaf of bread at The Macaroni Grill.
The good news is that I've learned so much about depression and how my body/mind works, that I know what I can do to combat the feelings. The most important thing for ME (and I say for ME because I am not speaking for everyone who suffers from the disease. I'm only speaking for myself and my experience) I know that I HAVE to exercise. There is no way around it. As soon as I stop working out for a long period of time, I start to fall apart. I have finally accepted that in order to stay emotionally stable, I must maintain a consistent workout program. I have to stay active. Period.
One of the reasons that I was so fucking positive (!!!!!!!!!) during my weight loss was because I was working out all of the time. I was genuinely happy and EXCITED TO BE ALIVE. Working out helped keep my mind clear and focused and gave me a general feeling of well being.
Since I’ve stopped, I’ve been emotionally unbalanced and I think that it has less to do with the size I’m wearing and everything to do with being unhealthy. (If that even makes sense.)
I’ve made a promise to myself to get at least 30 minutes of exercise in every day. I’ve also promised myself to stop obsessing over points and pounds and focus on getting healthy. Chances are that I’ll never wear that size 6 dress that’s hanging in my closet from 1996 that I REFUSE TO LET GO OF again, but I will get healthy again.
I refuse to spend anymore days of my life feeling depressed and hopeless because I’m too lazy to take care of myself.
Can I just say “WHOA” because I had ZERO intention on writing any of that. The ONLY reason I brought up going to The Gym last night was I was because I wanted to tell you that I watched my very first episode of Grey’s Anatomy while huffing and puffing on the elliptical and OH MY GOD! I started crying and had to step off of the machine to get a tissue because that dudes pregnant wife died and oh no! MEREDITH! She can’t die because she’s Christina’s “person” and she hasn’t had a chance to tell her that she’s getting married and SAVE HER LIFE, PEOPLE! Please!”
But then, some annoying blonde started giving an “I believe!!!!!!” speech in which she actually said “I believe that if I eat a whole stick of butter when no one is watching that the calories don’t count” which had absolutely nothing to do with A WOMAN POSSIBLY DYING and my tears turned to hatred and I actually said “I BELIEVE YOU NEED TO SHUT UP!” because damn, she completely ruined the emotional moment for me.
I was the last and only person at the gym when it closed because I absolutely could not leave before knowing if the woman died or not and then, those fuckers were all “find out what happens NEXT on an all new hour of Grey’s anatomy.” I panicked because the gym was now closed and I had to know what happened! So, I called Tony from my new cell phone and was all “BABE! Please! Go! Record! Grey’s! Anatomy! Right! Now! Channel 7! Now!”
I rushed home, almost unable to control my excitement. I grabbed a box of tissue and sat down to watch.
Um.
I H-A-T-E-D the second hour. Maybe it’s because I had never watched it before, but I found it to be ridiculous. Hello? She was dead for what, an hour? Then! Suddenly, she came back to life and her best friend just happened to be there so she could tell her that she was getting married! That was probably supposed to make me weep tears of happiness, but instead, it made me wish I had a brick in my hand so I could smash the television into pieces.
That corny shit would NEVER happen on “I love New York” or “The Surreal life.”
Scripted TV can bite me, man.








That exercising thing makes sense to me... I know for my puppy, if we don't exercise her every day, her behavior goes downhill FAST. Not saying you're a dog... but that, there's validity in your theory. :-)