staying (or getting back) in shape post-20's and football

if you'll allow me to rant a bit...
sometimes a good rant is in order because you have no one to be mad with but yourself and you can't really row with yourself without looking crazy so you have to just put it out there and hope someone identifies with and understands you. and you hope that you won't be judged for thinking extreme thoughts and feeling exaggerated feelings about something that is not all that uncommon and relatively insignificant. so here we go:
probably more frustrating than accepting my post-20's-now-in-my-30's flabbier self is that i can't physically DO what i want to do, and envision myself doing. because even if i am unhappy with how i look or what size i wear or whatever cliche thing that almost all women in their 30's think toward themselves, i think that if i could still run miles and miles, or play a full soccer game on a full-sized pitch, or confidently play pick-up soccer and basketball with "the guys" like i used to do without much effort, that maybe i wouldn't feel quite so defeated. it's difficult enough to "get oneself back" without adding to it the new and unfamiliar challenges of achey knees, plantar fasciitis, hip bursitis, jiggling belly, rubbing-together legs, sweat-from-strange-places, and what feels like weight-induced asthma (did i make that up?? i've heard of allergy-induced asthma and seasonal asthma, both diagnoses which i have claimed, but now i'm certain it's just extra-flab-induced asthma). sorry if that is too graphic. but it's terribly uncomfortable to try to do the same activities i have always loved with extra poundage. i used to run with my mom (who is 5'3" to my 5'6") in high school and we always bickered about who should set the pace because my stride was longer and quicker than her little legs would manage (but she always outlasted me...classic tortoise and hare). i miss that stride. i liked that stride. now i shuffle instead of running. i plod. plod plod plod. (onomatopoeia).
last weekend i had a particularly defeating attitude. i was wallowing. i couldn't seem to get myself moving and i made terrible food choices all weekend long. when, finally, i peeled myself off of the couch and went for a run on sunday evening after thinking about running all weekend long and everyday the previous week, i realized as i plodded along how much more difficult i am making it for myself! i got mad at myself. i was mad in a good way, the kind of mad that makes me DO something...anything! kirk and i went running again on monday or tuesday and i was complaining (poor kirk) about how difficult it was and how frustrating, blah, blah. he was trying to comfort me, saying "at least we're doing something, it's better than nothing." i stopped him. i told him i don't want to be comforted, i don't want to feel good about where i am right now. i don't want to feel good about shuffling. i don't want to feel good about only being able to run a few miles when that is so far from my goal (if you're not a runner, i know you're thinking a few miles sounds good, but if you're a runner you know how much it stinks to run fewer than 3 miles and struggle through the whole process! if you're not a runner, think about something you like to do and are good at and think about how it feels to do less than you expect of yourself...it stinks). i don't want to be comfortable. comfortable is what has gotten me here. "comfortable" is what makes me want to eat things that aren't good for me and avoid vegetables. it's not comfortable to eat grilled chicken and salad after a rough day at work. it's more comfortable to eat pizza. it's not comfortable to get up early to run, it's more comfortable to sleep later. it's not comfortable to discipline oneself, it's not comfortable to sweat, and run up hills, and sprint the last 2 blocks, and push yourself, and it's not comfortable to be sore the next day...but i love that. it's not comfortable to face my disappointment with myself and a closet full of 2-sizes-too-small clothing that hasn't been worn in years. it's comfortable to avoid and justify and make excuses and it's comfortable to just keep eating too much, drinking soda, and scarfing yummy unhealthy food so that i don't have to think about changing myself. no, i definitely don't want to be comfortable.
i wonder...does anyone else think about things like this??
anyway. so for now, i'm going to let myself stay mad. mad mendy. beware.

now, on to fun things: football!
i'm going to manhattan for the opening game of the 2010 ksu season. woopwoop. i honestly do not know what to expect because the media predictions are for k-state to be in the middle of the big XII north. but, as ever, bill snyder has
been elusive and vague about his expectations for the team, waiting until the 11th hour to name carson coffman the starting QB (provoking questions as to whether there was actually competition for the spot or snyder was merely electing not to reveal all of his cards, so to speak). there is great anticipation for thomas to have a record-setting season, but what will this look like in an era of spread offenses? is thomas our only viable offensive threat? as for the game this weekend, we face a UCLA that went to a bowl game last year but is only returning one starter from that team. most people are counting k-state out in this game, but i think we may have a chance (eek. i hate making predictions) and here's why: home field advantage, opening day, bill snyder (he notoriously keeps a few unsung talented players tucked up his sleeve and out of the media's scrutinizing eye), thomas, and an inexperienced UCLA team. no guarantees. just possibilities.

1 comment:

Kyle said...

I was just telling Amelia this weekend how I hate it when people rant but don't do anything about it. As per usual, your rant has led you to action and as such there is purpose for the "bear-it-all" honesty that you present. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us and for moving past the pity party toward a manifesto for better health and the desire to not be comfortable. I don't want to be comfortable either. Keep kicking ass, Mendy.