So, I hit a wall. (Don’t worry. It was a metaphorical wall.)
I decided last night to go ahead and not expect myself to use the treadmill on both Sunday and Wednesday evenings. That way, I can use those times to take twice-weekly showers, and I’ll still be burning 300 calories 12 times a week, for a total of 3,600+ calories, which should help me lose a pound a week, right? This is a win-win, because I need to be way more disciplined about taking regular showers. Now I will be!
But today when I went to the gym for my first daily treadmill session, I gave up after only burning 68 of the 300 calories I wanted to burn. I realized that my feet were suffering from the sweat, so I went to the drugstore and bought some foot spray. I also swung by the grocery store and bought some Luna protein bars in case my body wasn’t properly fueled.
Those issues taken care of, I returned to the gym after a few hours, but I was dragging; and it took everything in me to burn 232 more calories needed to total 300. I think the problem is that my period’s starting, but what to do? I can’t let it derail me! No, Meg, by all means, keep torturing yourself, why don’t you? AAUGH!
I don’t know. I may or may not go back this evening, because I’ll be awaiting contest results, unless they come in super-early, or something. It’s 4:00 PM here, and the results are due by midnight. When you add waiting for results to being menstrual (or premenstrual, rather), I might just give up.
Or not. I could make a concerted effort. It’s helpful to understand that my period’s causing the problem. I was talking to my mom on the phone, and when I explained, “… but my period’s starting,” her response was a very knowing, “Ohhh.”
My mother had extreme hormonal problems during her child-bearing years. Lord above, there was this one time when I was fifteen that she and I both had hormonal PMS issues, and we spent the entire evening yelling and shrieking as we hurled insults. You can’t buy memories like that. Just priceless. “You’re less obedient than a dog!” she accused. And my response was, “You’re comparing me to a dog?! Do you want me to sit, heel, or roll over? Woof! Woof! Woof! Who are you calling a dog? You’re a dog, woman.” And on and on.
But I digress. I’m sort of glad that my current relationships are much calmer. I thrive on stability and calmness. But anyway, the menstrual situation leaves me wondering how hard we should push ourselves. The problem is that the 300-calorie-burning, fifty-minute routine done twice daily is exactly what I was capable of… right up until my period rendered it too difficult. For all the men out there, the female menstrual cycle takes a lot of energy and can be exhausting, among other things. I knew it wasn’t in my head, because my heartbeat was going higher than it has been recently. My routine has historically (i.e., in the past week) been at around 130 bpm, but today, while I was struggling, it got jacked up to 140. Same routine, same speed, same incline. The menstrual struggle is real, people.
I’ll figure something out. I’m sure it’ll all be good. I just don’t want to keep making all these exceptions. Slippery slope, and all that. At least I can say I got it half done today, if nothing else, even though it took two trips to accomplish that much. And I’ve got a healthy salad I can have for dinner, and I got some lowkey snacks like breakfast cereal and Luna protein bars.
While talking to my mom on the phone, she said, “Just don’t do what I did and go on one of those crash, liquid diets. I lost fifty pounds and gained back a hundred.”
“Oh, there’s no chance that I’d do that.” I didn’t mention that her actions toward me during her liquid-diet phase scarred me for life. (There was extreme physical abuse.) Oh, but that reminds me. Lord above, she still wants to read my memoir.
No agents have expressed an interest, so it’s going into the Meg vault. I have no real desire to self-publish it. But at any rate, my mom wants to read it. I told her no, that it’s too personal, and she started digging her way in. “What’s too personal about it? Would it upset me?”
“Uh… well, it’s just, uh… depressing.”
“Does it have a theme? What did you tell agents about it to get them interested?”
“Um… I just said, here’s my memoir. It has this many words. There’s no theme. Just my life.” (This was a big, fat lie. The memoir’s called Spanked. There’s an obvious theme there about physical abuse.)
“Well, maybe that’s the problem. They weren’t interested in regular life.”
“Right, I think that was it,” I lied. “Memoirs really need a good hook, ya know?”
(My mother is the reason I don’t necessarily see lying as a vice or honesty as a virtue. If someone’s being nosy and dysfunctional, lying can be the only way to protect yourself.)
So then I told her about how I’ve self-published smut under an assumed name, and she had some sort of freakout. (“You wrote and published what?!”) I was trying to brag about having received two five-star reviews thus far (one on Amazon, one on Goodreads, and thank you, Ashley Leia!!), but she was hung up on getting me to promise her that I used a fake name. I was really hoping for some praise or congratulations, but with my mother, that’s often asking for too much.
Well, I’ve enjoyed blogging here. I hope everyone out there is having a great day!!