It happens, sometimes. That "stuck-in-a-rut" feeling that feels impossible to shake, when doing the things you know will make it better seem far too difficult to even try.
I've been that way with money. I used to manage it really well, and then I turned it over to my ex. When he left, it was like I just didn't know how any more.
I've been that way with people. When it's been awhile (years, sometimes) it can be hard to make that phone call, no matter how much I want to hear Julianne's voice at the end of the line.
And I've been that way with my health, and that's what petrifies me the most. It is so easy to slip back into my old habits, to let the comfort of a sedentary life lead me to time on the couch. It feels like paralysis, like I just can't do it. I can know beyond a shadow of doubt how much better I'll feel if I just get to the gym, or walk around town, or even vacuum really fast, but there I sit.
Yesterday was my first time back at the gym since June 30. That's almost two weeks, and for someone like me, that is not okay. I had my reasons, believe me. Last week the gallbladder spoke to me pretty loudly. I had a couple of days when only the Vicodin kept me from performing surgery myself. Never missed work (although I'm real happy I didn't get picked for a random drug test) but it was tough to get to the gym. Then it was 4th of July weekend, and I had lots of good food to eat and sleep to catch up on and fun to have. And then Monday, work came at me like crazy. Deadlines and blamestorming was the theme of the week, and I got caught in the crossfire. Un-fun. So I worked late Monday, which stretched into Tuesday, and by Wednesday I just wanted to go home and eat an entire pizza.
I could've done so many things differently. I could've tried taking a little walk when the gallbladder hurt, just to see if moving around helped at all. Hey, circulation is a good thing, right? I could've gone to the gym after work, regardless of how late I was stuck at the office. I could've shaken my groove thing on the elliptical or the treadmill instead of in class, since class and I couldn't coordinate our schedules. I could've done a lot of things, but instead I let myself wallow a little. I went home, ate delicious food, spent a lot of time in the bath. See, it's not like I spent my nights with my good friends Ben and Jerry; on the contrary, I still ate rather healthfully and deliciously. It was the moving my body that was missing.
So last night, I hit the gym again. Thursday night Salsa/Funk, surrounded by friends. In the middle of the last song (which incidentally helps us all tap into our inner pole dancer) it began to wash over me ... it's as much about working my soul as it is about working my body. I come here to sweat, and to get fed. So many good people, standing at the ready to shower one another with inspiration and encouragement, how could you not move? How could you not want to just let your body go and dance the hour away?
I'm not foolish enough to think that one night has put me back on track. And I'm a little nervous, because next weekend I have the whole surgery thing and that will require me to take things a little easier, at least for a few days. But I reminded myself of some important stuff last night: my connection to my friends (I love my John and Linda and Donna!) matters more than calories burned. The post-workout shower feels better than any other clean routine. And my body is meant to move.
So you have my word that I'm not gonna let paralysis take me over again. And when I feel it coming on, I'll call ya, or text ya, or e-mail ya. I'll let you kick me in the tail so one night doesn't turn into two weeks, because I know I'm worth it. And I know you think so, too.