I just finished my 3rd week of boot camp classes. I’ve also been trying to eat better, gave up fast food and soda, bought a juicer that I actually use and have incorporated walking a few nights a week just for that extra boost. So far, so good. I haven’t broken down and cried yet. Not like last year …
In the spring of last year I’d been jogging a couple of times a week for over a month and was really proud of how far I’d gotten. It was my 3rd day of tracking my food through Weight Watchers Online and after having blown out all of my daily and weekly reserve points on a 55-point Snapple drink the day before I was determined to stay under my daily allotment.
We were out on the trail we always ran and two days before I’d gotten down to a 9-minute mile, mainly because I had inspiration I was chasing after. Inspiration in the form of a tall, white, skater, and judging from the baby blue scrubs he was wearing, a doctor or at least future doctor. He could’ve just been a receptionist at a medical office but while I was
chasing after him running behind him I didn’t have time to deal with little details. Part of my brain was struggling to keep up and comprehend why I was running so damn fast without flames all around me and the other part of my brain was busy planning my wedding to Dr. Skater-in-Scrubs and how we’d tell our wedding guests how we met out on the running trail and how that had been the start of my marathon training.
Running this day was so much harder. I was struggling to keep with with my two running buddies and they weren’t even going that fast. I figured
I pushed hard and tried to keep up but the pain was just too much. I ended up walking a major part of the 4 mile run and left home feeling defeated. On my drive home I kept thinking of how good I’d done two days before, how bad I’d done that day and how badly I wanted a Subway sandwich but didn’t have enough Weight Watchers points to get what I wanted. I called my friend Vanilla Ninja since she’s a natural athlete and figured she could give me some encouraging words. She didn’t answer and I figured she was out having fun on the streets of NYC, where she lives, and I was right. So I hung up and felt worse about myself without having someone to talk to. And then a tear ran down my face.
Not having cried in about 4 years I thought I was still sweating from my run, but no. Then another tear, then another, then they just ran down my face and I sobbed, out loud, “I …just want … a SAMMICH!”
Here I was, a 30-year-old grown ass man crying over a fucking sandwich. And also over the fact that I’d bottled up the feelings I had because my mom was slowly dying in hospice and that a few months before I’d broken up (for the 3rd or 4th time) with the only guy I actually ever cared about. But in that moment I was crying because I wanted a sandwich and didn’t have enough points.
The next week I found out I had a sinus infection that lasted two weeks and had pain so bad that the doctor actually had to give me Vicodin (Shout out to Vicondin!) and that was the reason that I had no energy and my body couldn’t run like it had before.
Thankfully a breakdown of that magnitude hasn’t happened yet in this year’s attempt at working on my fitness. Here’s hoping I can keep the momentum going, get back down to a 9-minute mile and complete all my workouts with a smile like this.
It took me about two months after this happened before I was able to tell anyone I cried over a jog and a sandwich and it took me over a year to be able to write about it and post it on the Interwebz but I figure what’s the point of having a blog where I make fun of everything else if I can’t make fun of myself?