Adjusted Reality

“Reality can be beaten with enough imagination.” – Mark Twain

What If I Were To Give Up Now?

So my biggest fear in the last 2 years is that I was going have the anti-epiphany one day that I was sick of this exercise-y healthy new lifestyle stuff and just decide to say fuck it and go back to the way I was.  It’s always a fear that comes back when I get sick/injured/unable to workout for a while.  Let’s indulge my inner demons and take a look at what would happen, if history is a guide, at the events that would play out.

Day 0: I have dialogues with myself or someone else and come to the realization that what I’m doing isn’t making me happy and isn’t worth it, and I’m not gonna do it anymore.  Usually, under some sort of mental duress, instability, or altered state of mind.

Day 1: I’d probably go make myself sick on whatever I was craving last.  If it were today, I would go eat as many pieces of Conan’s Deep Dish Savage as I felt like.  Probably with some good beer.  And probably some sort of hand scooped milkshake.

Day 2: I’d wake up feeling AWFUL.  It would keep me in check for a while.

Week 1: I’d probably still workout – 17 months of habit doesn’t disappear overnight.  I’d probably stick to mostly DDR and some runs and walks outside.  I’d still probably try to not eat *too* badly, but definitely give up counting calories and weighing myself every day.

Month 1: I’d start boasting that I don’t have to do all this crap I used to do, I can stay slim without any effort, just doing whatever I feel like.  Since I’ve decided to give up the scale, my clothes are probably still fitting me ok so I’m happy.  I probably work out 3 times a week when I remember.  I’m thinking I can do whatever I want, so I push my boundaries and maybe drink some real, sugared juice or just go ahead and order the fettuccine alfredo because I want it, but only occasionally.

Month 2-3: My pants probably start getting a little tight, which depresses me but I avoid thinking about it by switching to another pair.  See, these fit me when I was skinny too, I must just be having a bad day, right?  The little pooch I’ve developed just means I stay away from the tighter shirts, I have plenty that are still flattering.  The scale is out of the bathroom – out of sight, out of mind.  I might still be working out sporadically, but it’s getting harder to get the same results I was before.  This also probably frustrates and depresses me, so to avoid it, I slowly stop doing it.

Month 6: I’m probably clinging to the last 2-3 pairs of “skinny” pants I have that fit or thanking the dear fluffy lord it’s summer and I can get away with skirts.  I don’t feel right, I know something’s wrong and I need to get back to eating better and exercising, but I’ll do it next week, when things are gonna be better.  It’s just so much easier to not worry about how many calories are in things, ya know.  And exercising just takes so much EFFORT.  I just don’t know how I used to do that so much.  I remember it being such good stress relief but…I dunno, I just can’t get back into it.  I’m gonna start Monday, really I am.

Month 12: I’ve visibly gained weight.  Those skinny jeans are in a box and I’ve had to borrow the old ones I got rid of back from my mom (or if my pride won out, I’ll have bought new ones as to not admit that I’ve gained).  I think about when I used to have such passion for being healthy, had such momentum, and wish I could get it back again.  Unfortunately, I’m pondering this over french fries sitting on my butt.  Running was so great, but now I can barely fathom doing it.

Year 2: I’ll make a New Years Resolution to get back into running and lose that weight, and it worked for a while.  I lost about half of it, but then I got lazy and gained that plus some back by the end of the year.  I got into the gym and did some workouts, but could never get back to the same intensity I used to.

Year 5: I’ve been through Year 2’s cycle at least 3 more times, before giving up completly, blaming my 30s, work, life, or anything else around me that wasn’t giving me my thinness back.  I’m too old to be that thin, I think.  That’s for younguns in their 20s.  At least I’m not in plus sizes (yet).

I think I’m going to stop there because that’s depressing enough.  While I would LIKE to think I’ve learned enough in these 2 years to not go back to that, I do have 14 years of previous habits to break.  Everything in that description has gone through my head or has been something I experienced since I quit gymnastics and went from super fly fit to super squishy.  I just hope that I can not regress to that ever again…

No, I know that I can do it.  I didn’t spend 25 months at this to regress that far.  I just can’t go back to that, it’s not a fun place to be.  Not that I was considering, but I always have to play the “what if” game with myself.  It usually keeps me on the straight and narrow.  Just like I wouldn’t ruin all the hard work I’ve put into building my career by upping and walking out and burning bridges, I wouldn’t ruin all the hard work I’ve put into my body by just giving up on it.  The difference is – once you break a tie, it’s usually forever.  If you decide you regret what you’re doing to your body, you can, at that very moment, start changing for the better.

Anyone have a story on giving up on anything to share?  Was it a bad thing or a good thing?  Ever walk out of a job without notice to prove a point?  I’d love to hear about it.


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1 Comment

  1. Divinari

    Honestly, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. It doesn’t seem like this is a “what if”, but more of a worst-case scenario, fed by bits of reality (like what happened after you quit gymnastics (how old were you when you stopped? I don’t remember)).

    As for giving up on things… hmm. Smoking and drinking don’t really count. The only tie I ever really broke was with a friend in Reno, who screwed me over after my beloved cat died. Was trying to arrange to have him buried up by her house (couldn’t think of anywhere else), and she completely flaked on me for stupid reasons. I was emotionally completely fucked up and she made all the wrong choices in my mind. I never completely forgave her, and still don’t talk to her. We ended up burying my cat at my parent’s house in a very small corner of dirt (they have a concrete patio). In the end, it worked out best that way. Still doesn’t excuse her for acting the way she did. She’s still very sorry and last I heard, wished I would talk to her. But I don’t. At this point, sometimes I think about it, but I can’t quite separate stuff in my head – do I want to talk to her because I have no friends here and just am looking for ANYONE to talk to/be friends with, or am I actually wanting to be in contact with HER again? Don’t know. So I don’t.


    (this comment brought to you by maudlin minds who are going up to Reno this weekend)

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