I went for a run last night.
To most folks, that probably doesn't sound like an incredible feat. After all, I run somewhat regularly. (I used to run really regularly, and am determined to get back into the habit.) So what's the big deal about running last night?
Well, it's been hotter than blue blazes in Chicago over the last few weeks. Like, damn-near-100 degrees hot, and humid to boot. So, I suited up (in shorts, no less), grabbed a water bottle and headed out. Just a couple miles, but two is so much more than none.
I wasn't miserable. Well, I wasn't miserable the entire time. In fact, there were moments that felt pretty good. But still, it was a tough 30 minutes. (Okay, 27:32 ... I round up.) My legs felt heavy. My brain felt heavy. My whole damn self felt heavy, and sweaty, and hot, and cranky, and if it hadn't been for John Cougar Mellencamp singing in my ear, may not have made it. But I did, and in the end it felt good.
Wait ... what's that? "My legs felt heavy"? Oh, yeah? Well, cookie, maybe that's because you have gained seven pounds. Seven; 7; siete; seven pounds of butter. So, yeah, you're gonna feel that.
And here I am, admitting it to the world. Since my best run so far (by "best" I mean my favorite) - the Hot Chocolate last November - I have packed on seven big ones; on Monday night I weighed in at a whopping 214.
So yeah, that shit sucks.
The trouble is, I literally feel hungry all the time. My hormones are out of whack and I just cannot convince myself that I don't need food. I don't eat first thing in the morning, because a) morning comes really early for me; b) once I start eating I can't stop; and c) I swear to sweet Jesus, I will eat three full breakfasts if I start as soon as I wake up. So let's take yesterday as an example: For any rational person, a banana and a breakfast bar, spaced out throughout the morning, should be enough to sustain for the day. So at 9:00, I ate a banana. At 10, I ate a breakfast bar. at 11, in a meeting, I started feeling shaky - like, low blood sugar shaky. NOT cool. So back at my desk, I ate a 100 calorie pack of cheez-its. I honestly felt like I needed food.
Then at noon I ate a sandwich. And more cheez-its. And two Fudge Stripe cookies. And I finished of a co-workers nachos. HOLY FUCK, I ate nachos. I am not a person who eats nachos - at least not the kind that come with 100% plastic cheese - but fo sho, I ate these. (And they were delicious.) So I spent the afternoon beating myself up.
I know, I know, knock it off. I know better. I really do understand that the negative self-talk is destructive, so you can take the lecture elsewhere. The point is, I used it for good (sort of). When I got home, I made myself go for a run.
When I came in, I ate two ears of sweet corn (with olive oil mayo and chili powder) and a turkey sandwich. Dessert was a Drumstick (which was delicious. Shut up.) Sure, there are a few better choices I could have made throughout the day, but what I'm trying to be clear about is I am constantly hungry. So this is going to be a challenge.
I talked to Tucson Mike last night, and he informed me that by sometime in October, he intends to be back in his college jeans. Okay, I thought; I should be able to do that. I want to be able to do that. It's gonna take hard work. It's gonna take making my schedule fit with the workouts (which is admittedly hard these days, but not impossible.) And it's gonna take being hungry. But if I don't get real, I'm going to be stuck. And stuck is just not where I wanna be.