Whenever I have an idea for a topic to write about, I try to jot it down on a Post-it. For any of you who grew up in the Chicagoland area in the 60’s and early 70’s, you may remember the WGN celebrity Ray Rayner. It is even states in his Wikipedia bio, ” He always wore a jumpsuit, covered with small pieces of paper that held reminders of what to do next on the program (a cartoon, a commercial, a visit from Chelveston, etc.).” More and more, I find myself to be like Ray Rayner. I may not be wearing a jumpsuit (yet), but I have quite the collection of brightly colored sticky Post-its as reminders. Periodically, I scour through them to see if I am forgetting to do something and I was a little surprised that on more than one occasion I posed the question, “Why don’t I exercise?” Even on my recent enabler phone conversation I was asked, “What are you worried about? Why don’t you want to exercise?” I can also assure you that the question comes up during my therapy sessions to which I respond, “I don’t want to and I’m too damned old to do things I don’t want to do anymore!” or something to that effect.
I have never been a thin person, but I have always been strong and possessed a good amount of endurance. I could walk and walk, not run, but walk for miles. These days, I am challenged to walk a few blocks without feeling stressed. Yes, I do have a pacemaker, even more reason for me to exercise. I do experience a shortness of breath at the very beginning, but I manage to gain my composure and keep going. My muscles tighten up almost immediately, but I adjust to that as well, I just hate doing it. I mean I really hate doing it, especially walking alone on the streets I have walked my entire life and feeling like I’m just not getting anywhere.
Not too long ago, I participated in a Alzheimer awareness walk. It was a 2 mile walk and yes, I had to rest along the way. I did manage to finish, but what an embarrassing struggle. I wasn’t alone with my need to rest, but still I took it as a personal failure. I used to be good at this, I had muscular legs and buns of steel. I was never fast, but I definitely had a much better endurance than I do now, no matter how much I weighed. One could argue that I no longer have youth on my side, but even in my 40’s I could kick some major ass. For about 3 years, I did well with going to the YMCA 3 times a week and do a stint on the elliptical machine and then a series of weights. Once again, I wasn’t fast, but I think I did well enough, even though I had been diagnosed with a heart condition. Then, I met John “The Pilot” and I let my visits with him become an excuse for me not making it to the Y. Even though I knew how good I felt after a workout, more and more, I just couldn’t get myself to do it. When I finally realized that I was paying a monthly fee for something I wasn’t using, I cancelled my membership and tried to do things on my own. As time rolled on, I did less and less until I arrived at my current state of mind of “Fuck this shit!”
My heart doctor has told me on a number of occasions that I should exercise. My 6 month checkups have become another sort of therapy for me because I am always amazed at how much has happened during that time period and I feel the need to update him. I’m thinking on one particular visit, I was rather ornery and he said to me that I appear to be a very nice person and he had some advice for me. He continued that he himself had become more and more of an ass, but when he exercises on a regular basis, he feels that he gets along better with the people in his life. On my last visit, I hung my head in shame about my weight gain and he told me that he didn’t care what I weighed, he just wanted me to exercise. “You’ll feel better and if you lose weight along the way, bonus.” was all he had to add.
I know I will feel better, so why don’t I exercise? I believe that part of the reason is that I have this broken record playing in my head and sadly, I have been told that I have passed it down to my offspring, shame on me. “No matter what I do, I’m just never good enough.” is the soundtrack of my life. Even when I was 20 years old and got down to 160 lbs and looked and felt great. I was asked, “What size are you going down to?” and was told, “You look great, keep going!” In hindsight, reading that last statement, they may have actually been trying to say, “Keep up the good work!”, but that’s not what I heard. What I heard was, “That’s nice, you’re still not good enough. Keep going!” I guess I need to put this one under the heading of, “What else did I get wrong?” I suppose it was possible that these were statements of encouragement, but I took it the wrong way and started to spin out of control. Back in the day, I was doing Weight Watchers and before you say anything, yes I know, things are different now, but back then it was a crazy ass program. The women I went with did not want to exercise because they knew that muscle weighs more than fat and didn’t want to risk the scale going up instead of down. I was in a horrible state of mind and when my mother wanted Brown’s Fried Chicken for Mother’s Day and I had a piece, I was close to being suicidal. What had I just done? I ate fried chicken, AAUGH!!! Therefore hitherto, I stopped being on Weight Watchers and the weight came back.
Another reason I do not like to exercise is that it is boring. I have no desire to walk around in circles or to use my rowing machine and go nowhere in the process. I am told that I just need to find something I enjoy doing…right. I feel more justified in doing house or yard work as my exercise or if I am doing the whole walking thing, I take my little “Buscia” cart and get some groceries. I need to have a goal, a destination and no, good health does not qualify as a goal or destination, sorry. I know it does, but not in my current mindset. I can’t tell you how many times I sit there thinking about exercising and how much I need to do it and then, the thought is gone and I go on with my existence listening to the broken record in my head.
However, something of late has changed. It may have been the encounter with a gentleman who I believe is very much in denial about his sexuality. I mean, looking at his situation from my perspective, I am dumbfounded by his thought process, which leads me to be dumbfounded about my thought process. Or, it could be the reemergence of someone I consider to be the man I’m supposed to be with, but I am not and why is that the case? Maybe it was the scare I had with receiving text messages in the middle of the night from a number I don’t know asking me if I was home, coincidentally at the same exact moment my heart monitor started going through a remote testing sequence. I laid there still in the darkness, terrified that they were trying to tell me to go to the ER, but instead it turned out to be a wrong number looking for a booty call. However, I do not believe in coincidence, I never have and never will. I’m trying to pay closer attention to what the universe may be trying to tell me or at least, my subconscious.
I have buried so many memories, my mind’s way of preserving itself I suppose. Lately, situations have been bringing them back to the surface, forcing me to examine them and wonder, “What else did I get wrong?” The Post-its of my life seem to be showering me and collecting at my feet like the fallen autumn leaves. Instead of disposing of them, I am sifting through the brightly colored notes and the ones that stick, I am giving close attention. “Why don’t I exercise?” “What am I worried about and why don’t I exercise?” I find myself wearing a Ray Rayner jumpsuit covered with notes, reminders of what I’m supposed to be doing and more than one of them states that I need to exercise. I may not get thin or even lose a single ounce, but I will feel better. My mindset will improve and maybe along the way, I will find some of the answers to the questions that go round and round my head that poke and prod my grey matter. “How do I get to where I want to be?” I want to be someone that people enjoy spending time with, not avoid. I want to be someone, who if the situation presented itself, could in fact run for their life. I want to be happy. I choose to be happy. I choose to exercise. I want to exercise. I have begun rowing again, just 10 minutes, but it is 10 minutes more than I was doing before. I have reached out to someone for guidance on how I may be able to achieve my health goals and I am making a promise to myself to listen with an open heart instead of a closed mind.
I have stated a number of times that I am not “fast”. I wholeheartedly believe that slow and steady wins the race, but I am running out of time. Time is ticking, ticking, ticking away. No one knows how much time they have left, but I possess a strong genetic possibility of being here for another 50 years and I want them to be good years, not “Please let me die!” years. I want to wake up next to the man I love and know that I am good enough. Hell, I’m better than good enough, I’m amazing! I want to crave healthier food choices that I create recipes for and share with the world. I want to feel strong and capable of running for my life if need be. I want to exercise….I want to exercise…I want to exercise and meet my fitness goals, surpass my fitness goals.
Look at me ma, I’m exercising! No Post-it required.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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