I decided five weeks ago that rather than talking about it, writing about it or waxing lyrical about the eventual results of it – I was actually going go ahead and do it.
I was going to get fit.
Or (in new-age hyper PC speak) “make a lifestyle adjustment”
The ultimate adjustment being that I hopefully will no longer have to suck my stomach in
The trouble is, I had done this whole shtick before. I had made the resolutions, compiled a pinterest page filled with inspirational quotes, hemorrhaged cash at the Wholefood store and started with the best of intentions… But I always got the same results.
Either I pushed myself too hard too soon and got an injury that put me out of action or I would undo all my good work with a glass or two of red wine and zero portion control.
Stress and depression were definitely a big factor of that last one. As I’m sure we all have at some point – I was dealing with both negative situations and spectacular knob-jockeys that were making me miserable.
No matter how proactive or positive I was, they sucked the joy and energy out of me like the emotional vampires that they were. Which is when all hope of self improvement would be abandoned and you would find me face down in a bucket of kinder bars, eating my feelings.
So what changed? The truth is, dickheads aside, I just…. got on with it.
I had had a horrible day at work, but rather than wallowing in my misfortune I surprised myself entirely by grabbing my trainers and walking home (even though ‘home’ was 7.5 km away and it was 30 degrees outside).
According to my IPhone, by the time I reached my front door I had walked 11,634 steps that day. I felt amazing. Exhausted, I’ll grant you, but amazing. Which is when I decided to keep it up. It didn’t even matter if changes happened in tiny insignificant-to-anyone-but-me increments.
All I had to do was get moving. Especially when I didn’t feel like it.
Over the following five weeks I stair-jogged the flights of my apartment building, took long walks, did cardio and weights at home – I even got some resistance bands!
I was finally blowing off steam that quite seriously threatened to give me a stroke the way it was coursing through my veins like lava.
And in five weeks – I have lost a good inch on my legs and torso and (unsurprisingly) feel so much better in my own skin.
I’m not saying that I’ve made a massive ‘caterpillar to butterfly’ transformation or that I think I’m twinning with Cindy Crawford (because I haven’t and I’m not).
I am however pretty proud of what I have done in just a few weeks. Ultimately I know that given my track record there is a distinct possibility that one day I will fall off the wagon again – only to be found in the bath, fully clothed, clutching an empty bottle of Moet and muttering darkly that I didn’t want to get fit anyway.
But until that day comes I’m really enjoying the liberation of putting on my trainers and (in the words of Nike) just doing it.
Even if it’s simply to delay the eventual mental breakdown we all know is coming