I'm not losing a lick o' weight, and I know that the only strategy available to me is to add a heaping dose of Spartan to my daily living — and I just can't seem to do it.
Meant to take a walk and enjoy yesterday's beautiful sunshine. Failed.
Meant to eat a light dinner, to counterbalance the big diner breakfast the kids and I enjoyed. Failed.*
Meant to eschew alcohol, as it's helping neither my weight-loss efforts nor my mood. Failed.
Meant to get started writing my Math Practice book, which, I realize, I'm a little scared of. Failed.
Meant to be sweet and understanding and patient with every single annoyingly in-my-face member of my family, no matter how noisy and defensive and petulant and aggravating they are. Failed.
Failure failure failure!!!!!!
And then I prayed.
And then I reflected on a few key things:
- This is a stressful time. I have A LOT on my plate. I need to be kind to myself.
- Tomorrow is a new day.
- I have no control over any member of my family nor the decisions they make. None. If constant nagging/gentle reminders worked, wow, wouldn't that be great? — but it doesn't. I need to let go. They will do the (ridiculous) things they do. I can roll my eyes, I can laugh, I can love them regardless.
- I felt so good after zumba on Saturday, even though I came home and went straight back to work. If it's at all possible to squeeze in even a short walk, I must do it.
Today has been simply chock full o' nuts with success:
- I made myself start the Math book, and it's been a piece of cake. I'll finish my draft tomorrow, just in time to hand it to my boss for our Friday meeting.
- I took a walk around lunchtime and lifted weights and worked my core
- Plus I'm going to zumba tonight. So much exercise, clearly I need an intervention! Ha.
- I really wanted a snack/cocktail at 4, but I then realized that I'm mostly just bored and edgy (I hate having the kids home when I have a ton of work to do) and I managed to keep myself out of the kitchen.
So . . . I'm trying to embrace Spartan-er living, one hour at a time. As a rallying cry, yes, it's a tad lacking in oomph, but it's the best I got for now.
On a more serious note —
As I said, I took a walk today; it's gorgeous here, sunny and crisp, not a cloud in the sky. I felt purely happy . . . and then rounded a corner and saw a flag at half-mast and started to cry.
It feels crazy unreal that this terrible thing has happened in my beloved, beautiful city, the cradle of American liberty (hush, Philadelphia), during a worldwide celebration. Bostonians being who we are (hard-headed, belligerent, and brimming with local pride), I expect that next year's Marathon will set a record for attendance. But right now, it is just so sad around these parts.
This is not the kind of writing I do. I hide behind better writers. And here are three of them:
- Katie Pilkington's blog post on this topic, in which she quotes Anne Frank, Patton Oswalt, and Mr. Rogers, is simply lovely.
- A friend pointed me toward this Boston Globe article, which includes a passage I can't get out of my head:
It would be wrong and a cliche to say we lost our innocence on Monday afternoon as a plume of white smoke drifted high above Boylston Street, as blood pooled on the sidewalk across from the Boston Public Library, as severed limbs lay amid the bruised and the bloodied and the stunned, their ears ringing, their ears bleeding.
We lost our innocence on another perfect day, in September, 12 years ago. But we lost something Monday, too, and that is the idea that we will ever feel totally safe in this city again.
- My favorite piece of writing about September 11, a poem titled "Rest In Peace," can be found here. Though it's about a different event, it feels as relevant as ever.
Sad, sad time. But we will get through this. I lift my Spartan chin and hold it high.
* To be totally fair to myself, I did walk to the diner —a total of 1.36 miles, dude!
(In my efforts to determine this exact number, I came across the phrase "heterolifemate," which I am now in love with. Husband, how do you like your new name?)