I want to tell you that I’ve been busting my butt and sweating it out and getting all kinds of healthy and I have to wear new clothes because my old ones don’t fit me anymore. I can’t, because it’s a lie. All except for the “my clothes don’t fit anymore” because damn it, that’s true— because my clothes are too SMALL.
I can’t button my jeans, people.
Now, it’s easy to say what happened- I ate crap and didn’t exercise and pretty much lost all motivation, because that is true, too. I know the WHYS of it, sick kid, again, crazy stupid weather and snow storms and sub-zero temps and then….my father in law, my Pop, died.
And a huge part of me caring about stuff died. He’s been my CONSTANT for over 20 years. He and I were partners in crime- and I loved him. A lot . He wasn’t just my father–in-law, he was my Dad. He was my go to guy, my joke teller, my TV buddy, my car hero. He was always there for me except for now, he’s no longer here.
He died, and I became lost.
I can name all the ways I became lost but you know the drill and who is interested, anyway. The song of wine and cake and laying around never grows old. So I stopped writing and sat and watched marathons of shows on Netflix and thought about life and ate. I thought about how, at my wedding – which also happened to be his birthday- he told me that I was the best birthday gift that he ever got, a daughter. I thought about how I would sneak him little glasses of wine when I was with him because even thought he wasn’t supposed to have it with all the medication he was on, I knew how much a few sips meant to him. I thought about how much my heart broke writing his obituary and writing and delivering his eulogy. I cried when I was alone because I was being strong for everyone else when they needed me, and I sat around and was miserable, missing him..
I miss him.
I’m tired of hiding it and eating and not moving and drowning in grief when I give a good show of being ok. I had given up on me, this healthy thing because damn, people just die anyway, may as well eat the cake and carry on when my fitness tribe has dumped me anyway and what the hell, there’s cake.
Then on a whim because one dude wrote about a haunted walk in Savannah that happened to be at a fitness convention that I thought I’d never fit in at, I looked again, and thought, that might be fun- I decided to throw my name in the ring an apply to be an assistant – a live blogger- in exchange for a ticket because I’d never get chosen, anyway. I started wanting to go to this conference of fitness people- these healthy people thinking—maybe—they’d become my tribe? I started watching and reading all about them and I thought, I want to be their friends. I thought how wonderful it would be if I could go and started thinking about ways I could come up with money to go and then, I got an email- CONGRATULATIONS- you’ve been chosen as a live blogger!
Holy hell. I got CHOSEN! Is this a SIGN that I need to pick myself up and get back on track? Does this mean I need to kick myself in the butt and get moving again? Hey- they want to be friends! They’ll motivate me and support me. So, I’m taking a big deep breath and…
I’m going to pull up my big girl panties and make friends and go workout and plan my meals again, and get ready for this fitness conference and remind myself of something I’ve said over and over:
I guess its time to be strong! And maybe make a pufferfish.