King Forever and I

My eyes are super tired. Sunny days are here again, but because I can now see out my office window, the sun is behind my monitor and it makes my eyes very tired. It is very much time to see an eye doctor. And the dentist, but that has nothing to do with my eyes, it's just a thought. It's that time of the year when one goes to all the doctor's appointments they've been putting off for a year. Does anyone else do that or am I alone in this? Anyway, the eye doctor and dentist are up next. My last appointments were on the 31st with my OBG/YN RN and a nurse who gave me the HPV vaccine and another nurse who took some blood samples. I still have a five inch bruise on my arm where she took my blood. No, I'm not kidding. Five inches long and about an inch wide. It's weird, normal apparently, but weird. My regular doctor (who I saw the week before) gave me some advice on loosing weight "Don't drink sodas or juice drinks, you'll be surprised how much you will loose!" Thanks, I thought, I already don't drink those things. You are so helpful! Anyway, she wrote me and told me my blood and urine tests came back all normal. Hooray! Also, my OBG/YN told me my vagina, uterus, ovaries and breasts were all perfect. And, although I know she meant in the medical way, it was still nice to hear. She also told me I should loose weight. Fortunately, she decided not to give me the soda lecture.

As to that weight loss, it is all that is on TV and the internet right now. When the New Year rolls around it's all about New Year's Resolutions. Right now, it's about getting fit for the beach. Over the summer it will be about the tan and scars and age spots and staying toned. When we hit the fall and the holidays it will be back to food commercials. I heard on NPR an author who sort of equated news media with a man at a party with a bull horn. He monopolizes the conversation, but he doesn't add anything to it. I feel like the weight loss stuff is all like that. There is just someone shouting all the time "loose weight! loose weight!" But I feel like they are just saying it to make me buy things and feel bad about myself.

Never the less, I try to jog. What does that mean exactly? I go outside and I huff and puff and I blow my lungs out and I go home feeling down on myself. It's way fun! But, even more fun are the thoughts that go through my mind as I run:
1) Wow! I can totally do this! This is great. My feet picking up and going back down. Easy. The breeze in my hair. This is great!
3) When I'm thin, Matt and I are totally going to go dancing. I'll finally be able to wear that dress I bought in Spain. I'm going to be hot! I'll have to buy new shoes. And get a hair cute. Maybe even lightened.
3) Ok, here's the hard part. Focus. Stay focused. Just push through the pain. Look forward. Shoulders relaxed. Loose ams. Pick your feet up, and put them back down.
4) Holy Shit! What the fuck was I thinking! This was a bad idea! I can feel my fat bouncing up and down!
5) Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep...fucking it. Just fucking walk!

All this happens in the span of about 1.5 minutes. I remind myself that running is hard and to not get down on myself. But I am comforted with the fact that all those thoughts (those nice ones about the dress and how much fun running is) will be back again when I try to "run" again the next day. All I can do is hope I will make it to the 2.5 mark some day. And as I lace up my shoes I try not to think about all those little old ladies I see huffing it down the road with their iPods and their nikes and their gold jewelry as they jog past me. And then as I head home, breathing heavily and beating the shit out of myself and calling myself a whimp...I'll see those old ladies again trotting along, their large breasts bouncing up and down with the weight of their histories. I try not to think about them, but they creep into my sweat pants that I wear more to bed then I do to jog. I try not to think about them, but they swim past me as I grab my keys and head for the door. I try not to think about them, but they meet me on my way out and say hello in their poor in English with kind faces and fake teeth. I try not to think about them, but they run past me as my face turns red and my lungs burn. I try not to think about the old ladies who could beat me in a foot race, but I can't help it.

Also, in a note to Pauline, my long suffering walking friend. Thank you for everything, but mostly for putting up with me. I will be able to find a schedule to walk again soon.


Kiki B said…
Oh, how I know all those feelings all too well. Uck. Keep on truckin' Beans.

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