So I woke up one day last week and decided my life needs something. I’m missing something, a je ne sais quoi, a joi de vivre that defies me at every turn. I’ve undertaken a quest, if you will, to find that elusive thing I’m missing. It has so many names, but it boils down to one: happiness.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty happy most of the time, but in a self-deprecating way. I’m more inclined to make fun of myself for my inabilities and if I’ve learned anything from reading Linda’s blog it’s that I should be asking myself why I immediately jump to the conclusion that I can’t/won’t/shouldn’t do something.
I’ve spoken about this a bit on the fitness website I contribute to, My 15 Minutes to Better Fitness that I have special circumstances regarding an old injury that I have to consider when working out. (If you’re interested in it, it’s under the Andrea Wrote This category.) I’m bound and determined to be a runner, but after going well for a couple weeks, my bum foot would swell to the point where I nearly couldn’t wear shoes, so I’d rest it. It’d shrink and I’d feel good again, start running again, and boom. Balloon foot. After three times of this, frustration and bitching to my husband about how I just wanted to run for crying out loud, he very gently (yes, gently, there will be no Mike-bashing today, but stay tuned. I make no promises that I won’t make fun of him in some capacity in the future.) suggested that perhaps if I lost some weight before trying to run that the impact to my bad foot would be less and therefore my foot might be able to handle it if I weigh, say, 150 instead of 210. He has a point.
So I’ve been researching things to do that have low impact so I can sustain a workout that won’t kill my foot to the point where I have to stop. I’m playing it by ear, but so far have tried yoga, elliptical machines, and weight machines. When the pools open, perhaps I’ll finally learn to swim (I can only doggy paddle, and drink heavily while floating happily on a noodle) and do some of that. I have an exercise ball I’m going to blow up tonight. I may swipe the husband’s bike and go on a ride.
Thing is, I need to believe in myself. I’ve done some pretty cool things in my life. I’ve published a poem. I’ve won writing contests. I’ve learned to play piano pretty well. I was a kick ass catcher on a softball team in my teen years, until I blew out a knee. But all that stuff was done when I was a teenager. Yes, I was published as a teenager, and by a publishing house, not by a blog software program. But all my potential has stagnated and I have slothed around enough to get up over 200 pounds and lose all belief that there are awesome things I can do.
I need to prove it to myself again. I need to believe. So I’m giving it another go round. This wouldn’t be possible without the assistance of the Babysitter of Awesome that we now take Daughter, from here on our referred to Renuzit as a result of a shocking and clandestine few minutes left alone in the bathroom, to for our workdays. This Babysitter of Awesome has earned herself TWO pair of handknit socks in just the two months she’s been watching Renuzit, one for volunteering to take on my stomach bug ridden daughter because four of her six biological children (yes, I said six) also had it. She took Renuzit so that I wouldn’t miss any more work with the sicknesses. The second pair comes from our agreement to drop Renuzit off an hour earlier so I can work out before work. I love her.
I don’t have any pictures for you today. Maybe if I can get this ball rolling, I will have the nerve to post some before and after pictures when I have some progress to show. But for now, just my talking about it will have to do.
I’m going after it, that elusive belief in myself, that I can do something other than slut around on the couch with my knitting and the TV.