Excuses, excuses

Well, now that my weight loss and exercise plan is firmly back on track, I can’t help but hope that THIS time I will stick to it. It’s been a couple years now that I’ve been trying to lose weight; once I even made some good progress. But I have a nasty habit of falling off the wagon. I’m human, after all. Here’s the problem: I’m a black-and-white thinker when it comes to my body. When I miss one workout, or eat something I shouldn’t, I toss in the towel, call it quits, and kick my own ass for not having enough will power. Of course, we all know living healthy isn’t about will power. It’s about taking choices as they come, and trying to make good ones more often than not. It’s not about being perfect 100% of the time. To expect that of anyone is almost cruel.

But I understand that now and I have a whole army of people backing me up this go-around, so now it’s time to tackle the excuses I use to justify many of my less-than-heathy decisions. Some of these excuses even masquerade as supportive statements. My favorite one is this:

I should only make changes that I know I will stick to for a life time, even after I reach my healthy weight.

This made sense to me for a long time, and my friends and I toss this excuse around frequently. But when I repeated this statement to a friend in a casual conversation, he responded with a chuckle and a shake of his head. Then he said, “Can’t you see that the things you have committed to haven’t gotten you to where you want to go?” 

He’s right, of course, in more ways than he probably knows! He pointed out that although my running is an admirable effort, it’s not really changing my body the way I want it to. This is certainly NOT an excuse to stop running because it clearly does contribute to meeting other personal goals--increased energy, personal time, more time outdoors. And besides that, I enjoy it! 

But what it does mean is that I need to introduce other activities and different eating strategies into my life that my body does respond to. And I need to give them all a good, fair chance before I simply dismiss it with my favorite excuse: “I’ll never keep this up!”. Thinking about running again, I HATED it for the first two months. It was only the money I paid for the course that kept me at it! Then one day, I just loved it. Who’s to say that won’t happen with other forms of exercise or nutritional suggestions?

I’ve got a doctor, a nutritionist and a personal trainer on my team, and we’re all committed to finding out what my body needs to be healthy. And I’ve promised myself I will give all of their recommendations a fair chance.

Does this mean I won’t complain when Alex, my trainer, makes me do burpees? Hell, no! He will get my look of death every time he asks, but I will still do them!

Cliches and Idioms

A friend recently posted this status on Facebook: “It’s hard to trust the process. Is there a process?” The truth is, we all know that things work out in the end, one way or another. This is my favorite go-to line; I frequently deliver it to friends going through tough times. I also tell it to myself when I’m in my own sucky situations.

The thing is, it’s not just a line for me, I actually believe there’s truth in this statement.

I’ve also heard these lines from well-intentioned friends in the past few weeks:

• this, too, shall pass
• time heals all wounds
• everything happens for a reason
• hindsight is 20/20
• you’ll be better because of this
• soon you’ll see the light at the end of the tunnel
• what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger

Some say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but I think when we tell each other these lines, we really are trying to be supportive. Cliches, after all, have their origins in truth at some point in time. 

My body is being stupid, my family members keep dying, I’ve lost my passion for medicine, and the man I love is getting his ducks in a row necessitating separation from me. That this is all happening at once perhaps is a cliche in itself: when it rains it pours. To top it all off, the headache I have today just might be the final nail in the coffin. I’m at wits’ end because it seems like my life might be going to hell in a hand basket. But, because we all know that history repeats itself, things will all come out roses in the end. Right? I just need to remember one step at a time because slow and steady wins the race.

With all this shooting from the hip I’ve been doing, you might argue that silence is golden, but I beg to differ. I think I really hit the nail on the head when I say that spilling your guts is better than making people read between the lines. We all have skeletons in our closets, and sometimes it’s just best to air the dirty laundry. Such confessions must be taken with a grain of salt, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.  

And, if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: no man is an island. We all need someone to lean on. And sometimes, if you can’t take Mohammed to the mountain, the mountain must come to Mohammed. But remember, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Leave no stone unturned.

Yet I’ve still got an axe to grind with the world. As luck would have it, I got the hare brained idea that if I bit the bullet and let the cat of the bag about my broken heart,  I’d feel better. But all I did was open Pandora’s box. Love is a bitch and boys are dumb. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, so I understand that the first cut is the deepest. Once bitten, twice shy. That’s me. 

But it ain’t over till it’s over. So I’m just going to go balls out and get back on the saddle again, dip my toe in the water. Although a good man is hard to find, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And there’s no time like the present. Why put off tomorrow what can be done today?

But I just can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop. I know I should wake up and smell the coffee, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. I try to keep my chin up, and I know there’s no use crying over spilled milk, but truth is stranger than fiction. And my truth is that I’m at the end of my rope. It seems that when I give an inch, they take a mile. I guess we all have our cross to bear. Live and learn....

I feel like I have my back against the wall, that maybe this time I bit off more than I can chew. I know I might be making a mountain out of a molehill, but I’m really not crying wolf and these aren’t crocodile tears. I also know I should let bygones be bygones and let sleeping dogs lie, but it’s a dog eat dog world out there. And when push comes to shove, you have to piss or get off the pot, because what you see is what you get, and it’s only the tip of the iceburg.

I might as well just point out the elephant in the room: I made my bed, and now it’s time to lie in it. Lets just call a spade a spade and agree that love is blind. I know I can’t have my cake and eat it, too, but it’s not easy choosing the lesser of two evils. I guess beggars can’t be choosers. And now I’m just beating a dead horse. We’ve all been there, done that. Move it along , folks, nothing to see here.

To make a long story short, the nice guy finishes last, even if he is a diamond in the rough. Sometimes you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Oh, and don’t forget! It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.

Zombieland

Freedom from the desire for an answer is essential to the understanding of a problem. ~ Krishnamurti

Today has been one of those days. Energy is down. Mood is down. Appetite is gone. Can’t sleep. Don’t want to be awake. Can’t focus on a book. Can focus on a movie. I’m merely existing today.

The day didn’t start that way. I woke up at 4AM with too many thoughts in my head and had a good, long cry. It actually made me feel better for a while, long enough to have a peaceful nap before hitting the gym. I was sluggish at the gym but I had a great workout. Having something to focus on besides my health issues and my recent losses is something I really make an effort to incorporate into each day. And exercise seems, for me, to be the best way to do that. When I’m lifting weights, I think about my alignment, and I focus on slow, purposeful movements. And when the set is done, the feeling of accomplishment and the endorphin rush makes me feel human for a little while. So the gym has become my favorite place these days. 

Unfortunately, the first thing I do when I get back to my locker is check my phone for any kind of message that could suggest my life might take a turn for the better. Any number of things would do this: a sudden windfall of money, allowing me to quit medicine and focus on other things (at least for awhile), a supportive text message from a friend (which frequently happens), a phone call from my soulmate informing me he’s at the airport. And some days, a prediction that my life will end today would be the best news of all. 

And today, when none of these things happened, I came home and collapsed on the couch, with no desire to be, do, think, anything.

Writing this blurb, as pathetic as it is, actually helps. Putting words out into the world is a way of being in it. At least that’s what I’m telling myself! Hopefully later this afternoon I can try again to feel alive...maybe a walk. :)

Dear old golden rule days

It's back to school week for many. Last night, after my yoga practice, I made a pot of tea and recalled some of my most memorable moments from grade school. Some of them seemed SO traumatic at the time, but when I think of them now, I smile with love for the little person I used to be. So here they are:

First day of grade 1. I used to wear these awful baby doll pyjamas that included very puffy bottoms. I can recall clear as day the outfit I wore to my first day of first grade: red and green flannel overalls. Laugh if you must, but I loved them! Anyway, I was so excited about school, I forgot to take off the bottoms of my baby dolls before climbing into my outfit. On the walk to school, I realized my mistake and was absolutely terrified everyone would know. Who has their first wardrobe malfunction at age 5? Me.

The 2nd wardrobe malfunction. Grade 6 concert. I played the alto recorder. I was going through an "I refuse to wear a dress" phase. Mom took me to the Saan store (lol!!) and I picked out a summery pants suit. I was also going through an "I refuse to be seen with my parents" phase, so rather than drive with them to the school, I chose to walk there. My favourite shortcut involved hopping over a fence. I must have jumped that fence a billion times, but THIS time, my pants got caught on the way over and ripped the ass right out of them. There was no time to fix it, so everyone had the (dis)pleasure of watching me play in my underpants.

First test. Grade 1 spelling test. I got 7/10 and was absolutely devastated. I cried my eyes out on poor Ms Shulke's lap and mom had to come take me home. That might have been the last time I got a bad mark on a spelling test. Or any test, for that matter. Until med school, of course. But that's a whole other post. ;)

First heartbreak. Craig W. 10 year old with pierced ears and a leather jacket. I was head over heels in love with this guy. When he told me I looked like a rabbit, I thought I was going to die. Dirty Dancing came out that year. I remember the bus ride home from summer camp, and we played the soundtrack. I cried the whole way home. Unfortunately, my taste in men has not changed over time, and Dirty Dancing still gets me through the heartaches!

The kid who taught me more than the teachers did. David P. He was a nice kid, but everyone teased him. I can't actually remember why. He lived down the street from me. The teachers AlLWAYS paired me with him, accompanied by speeches that went something like this: "I know you are mature enough to handle this". So I was always his square dancing partner in gym class. And on lunch exchange field trips to Rundle Park, I had to switch lunches with him. It shames me to admit I was afraid to eat the egg salad sandwich he brought for me. But one day, in grade 5, after 5 years of getting paired up with David, I chose retaliation. I somehow managed to convince David that I could walk through walls. I walked home from school that day SO ashamed of myself. I apologized to him the next day, and have been on the side of the bullied ever since.

My over-the-top shyness. This was something I battled every single day. They tried to hold me back in grade 1 because of it. But there are two moments that stand out in particular. The first: I wrote a kick-ass Halloween poem in 5th grade. I was asked to read it at a school assembly, but I was WAY to terrified to even think about it. My teacher, Mr N, read it, and I wanted to die when the whole gym shrieked at the scary part. Sometime around then I was asked to recite the girl guide oath at our flying up ceremony (or whatever the heck it's called). I froze at the microphone and ran away. Everyone laughed. Again, mortified!

A defining moment. Remember the Canada Fitness testing we had to do as kids? I sucked at it. I couldn't even reach the standards to get the bronze badge. I got the "thanks for participating" award every damn year. In grade 6, I told Mr McPherson I would only do it if I could get a gold badge. After getting permission from my parents, I spent every lunch break for weeks with Mr McPherson practicing long jumps, sit ups, chin ups, running, all of it. Testing day came, and I managed to surpass the gold standards and was given the "award of excellence". I still have that badge. This resulted in another mortifying school assembly, as my "set your mind to it, and you'll succeed" story made headlines in the local newspaper. I also got to run with my best friend, Jody, at a competition at the Butterdome that year. Is it possible I peaked at the age of 12? 

Undefended

"When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That's the message he is sending." — Thich Nhat Hanh 

Suffering. 

As I sit here this morning in silent contemplation, I wonder why it's always pain that motivates me to start writing again. I live a happy life--so many moments filled with love and compassion, moments that make my heart sing, but it's the soul-crushing pain that draws me to put pen to paper and share my thoughts. 

I think sometimes this kind of pain leaves us vulnerable, undefended, and open to true communion with others. It's this thought that makes me wonder if suffering is actually a gift, an opportunity to open up to those who try so hard to love us. When I'm suffering, that undefended vulnerability tempts me to hide in my cave, avoid contact with humanity, and punish myself for feeling so hollow. I also punish those around me, not intentionally, of course. But self-enforced seclusion pushes others away. 

Until recently, I never understood how awful it feels to have someone you love push you away. And I can't help but wonder if, they, like me, know no other way to experience their suffering. And so the struggle I'm having is this: how do you love someone, help someone, who works so hard to push it away?

In this situation, what is the expression of love? Is it to respect their choice to be alone, even if it hurts you to do it? Is it simply a matter of telling them they aren't alone, and being there for them when they decide to live in the world again? How do you love someone who doesn't want it? And how do you deal with the pain that comes with your rejected love?

Perhaps I'm struggling with this because this time, instead of withdrawing, I chose to reach out to friends. And although I admit to feeling a bit guilty for burdening them with my sadness, there is tremendous healing in feeling loved. And I can't help but wonder how much I've hurt people in the past when I've pushed them away.

I remember a conversation I once had with a stranger. He asked me why I made it so difficult for people to get to know me. His question stunned me, because it never occurred to me that I do that. I think the lesson in my suffering today is to be undefended when life is good, not just when I'm too beaten down to keep the walls up. That being stoic isn't the courageous way through pain, being undefended is. That being open to the love others have to offer me is the greatest gift I can give to them.

So to those who have held my hand these past few week, thank you.