So I haven't been able to write as much lately. I'd like to point out that while writing is enjoyable and something I would rather do than almost anything else, it also takes an enormous amount of energy.
So last week when my doctor said that I needed to lose weight... Okay, lets be clear here, I've needed to lose weight for a while. That's not exactly a surprise. But last year I fell down the stairs at work and hurt my neck badly enough that I needed medical help. In that year I gained at least fifty pounds. I'm currently heavier than I've been in twelve years. Needless to say, I am not pleased.
So my doctor kindly explained to me the exact amount of pressure my weight was putting on my knees, one of which had already had problems, and that if I didn't lose weight I'd need knee replacement surgery by the time I was fifty. And oh, here's some fun news, most doctors won't even think about doing a knee replacement until the patient is sixty. My knees haven't been bothering me much for the past six months and that's great. But it also means I have no excuse to not exercise.
Except for the fact that I totally hate exercise. It's boring. It's uncomfortable. (We'll ignore the pain the day after the exercise for now.) I get sweaty and feel gross. And then there's the body issue. To use the vernacular, I've got a big rack. Trying to find a sports bra to fit me is like trying to find a trebuchet capable of slinging the Grand Tetons.
My doctor understood that I hate exercise and I love food. And my lifestyle tends toward the sedentary. But at the same time I really don't have a choice. Eating healthier is good and will go a long way but I have to exercise. And he also said I should get my husband on board with this.
To give the husband credit, he was immediately on board. He was so on board that he bought a Kinect (sp?) for the Xbox so we could exercise. It's kinda fun, and it certainly gets my heart rate up. But OH MY GOD does this take up my time.
Understand that I get up at five in the morning. I'm out the door by six. I drive to work and usually end up in the building a few minutes before seven. I have an hour before work during which I eat and fix my face so I don't scare small children or my more naive co-workers. And I try to write in the time I have left before eight. I work until five. Then I drive home. If I'm really fortunate and other drivers aren't being complete idiots I'll get home a few minutes before six. My husband will usually get home twenty minutes after me.
The past two days have been rainy in the greater DFW area. This means other drivers are being complete idiots. It has taken me much longer to get to work and home than a normal day. My husband actually beat me home last night.
So at six thirty in the evening we're starting to exercise. That means we aren't even done with it until at least seven or later. Bear in mind that if I'm going to get a decent amount of sleep I need to go to bed by nine. That gives me two hours to eat, prepare for the next day (pick out clothes etc) wash my face, and maybe write.
This does not take into account the exhaustion and simultaneous revving of my system so that I'm unable to sleep until ten. Or if the husband wants to watch TV. Or if the cats are acting insane. Or if I need to cook up something to eat for breakfast the next morning.
I'm sure that after we get into a routine I'll start to find all this normal and be excited about beating my husband at boxing. Or I'll have the energy to hit the recumbent bike before we do the Xbox workout. Maybe I'll even lose weight. But in the mean time...
Maybe I can get by on less sleep. Or try to write more during my lunch hour or breaks at work. But right now its seven thirty and I need to start messing with my face.
But at least I got to write today.