I've been struggling. My journey with my trainer and my fitness has been stalled. Well, that's partially untrue. I visit my trainer faithfully, now to be known as The Sadist. And before anyone gets upset about my nickname for her, I call her this to her face, so it's nothing truly nasty. And before you decide to object still, consider this:
a) When I text her the next day after a work-out and whine about hurting (and we're talking hurting as in difficulty moving my legs enough to walk), her typical response is something like, "good!" or "Hahaha" or "Yay!" or "Good job!". Sadist.
b) When I am working out and I say, "I can't do anymore" she says, "do three more". And I do. She counts. Slowly. Sadist.
c) Some of her first words upon arrival to her house typically are, "where does it hurt the most?" with a smile on her face. Sadist.
So, while I have been visiting The Sadist faithfully, my eating has been... less than stellar. Habits are so hard to grow, and so hard to break. I have been at a sort of "plateau" for months now... since The Hubs got sick back in November. Then came Hunter's cancer... then the holidays and a scrapbook retreat... you know, LIFE.
I think I have a lot of stuff going on inside my own head that needs to be meshed out... and I think all of that black gobbeldy-gook (yes, a technical term here) needs to be cleaned up before I can focus my energy on the outside of me. Anyone out there experience this ever?
And now I have the Dr. Pepper song running through my head: I'm a slacker, you're a slacker, he's a slacker, she's a slacker, wouldn't you like to be a slacker too?
Sorry about that. However, in the meantime, I do just feel like a slacker. A failure. Even though I'm NOT failing. I'm just stalled. I KNOW I'm not failing. But that old black sludge just keeps bubbling up and trying to tell me I am. So... like Tinkerbell needing claps and "I do believe in fairies" to stay alive... help the Slacker out a little here. Just remind me that progress takes time and as long as I keep looking forward and not back, I'll eventually reach my intended destination.
Sorry for the blatant cry for pats on the back, but trust me, they're needed. Or else I might become a permanent slacker.
No, The Sadist wouldn't allow that.