My feet are tired. I'm tired. This is not a bad thing. First of all, I made it up on time this morning to hit the treadmill for a mile. Since this was the goal, that was happy. And then work was busy. I was challenged, and I rose to the challenge and accomplished more than was expected of me. It's a good feeling. I like that kind of satisfaction.
I don't think it's a secret I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie. I mean, I used to compete in my teens. I was a runner. I actively sought out and took part in things like search and rescue. Later on, I relied on setting deadlines to motivate myself to do things I didn't really want to do. Now? Well, in the role of Sanderley Studios I have self-imposed deadlines. One thing about being my own boss, is that I could be soft on myself. There's nothing to say I need to finish up my revisions of East Witch and get it to the editor (who is busy right now anyway) any time soon. I don't need to finish the Hatrack novel anytime this year. I mean, who's expecting my stuff? I don't have a publisher poking me. I am the publisher.
Well, there is the easy way, and then there is the rush I know I'll get if I say I'm going to do something, set up a challenge, and then I meet my deadline. I might skid in sideways, exhausted and laughing for the sheer joy of it all. But I will do it. And sure, there are probably better and healthier ways to get my thrills. But by golly...!
I've taken two days off for my birthday. So I have a four-day weekend ahead of me before I return to work on Wednesday. I have plans. Those plans include some serious writing time, a massive ton of editing and revisions, and some gnarly art. If it's warm enough, I'll do some of this from my wonderful hammock chair on the front porch. If not, I'll coax my grandkitten into curling up on the couch with me while I write, watch the 1999 Mummy with my son, and teach him how to bake carrot cake.
Sounds exciting, no?
Wish me luck. 20K planned words in 4 1/2 days. 95K words revised. Art daily (per Ninktober prompts).
Speaking of reaching goals. This is a longer-term one, and when I crossed the initial finish line, I promptly moved my goal posts. Back in March (about the time the world panicked, despite my saying not to), I realized I had regained rather a lot of the weight I had managed to lose in 2019. I'd started to slide back upward about a year ago now, in October or earlier. Stress, job change, holidays, it all snowballed and just like that snowball, I got bigger as time rolled on. Now, I am short. And I am dense. So it's hard to guess where I'm at, but when I start to notice that I'm squishy and struggling with breathing and having trouble with exercise and flexibility... well, I reminded myself that if the women in my family are any indication, I'm just hitting middle age. I have a long way to go, and only one body to get there in. So I buckled down and with the help of friends who held me accountable and jollied me along when I was moaning over no progress (that happened like, weekly) I hit the first goal, which was to drop from 208 lbs to 180. A somewhat arbitrary number, that. It wasn't about BMI or % body fat, it was just a nice round number.
Well, I hit it a couple of weeks ago. And I decided just before I did, that I was going to keep going. Switching focus off control of intake, and onto exercise. I'm worried less about shedding the weight, now, and more about regaining a shape. When I was 18, wore a size 8, and had a perfect hourglass figure. I mean... four kids, 26 years, and a whole lot of life later, I don't know that I can achieve that goal. But I have started running, and I'm doing yoga or pilates to regain the flexibility. I'll probably never start rock climbing again, I'll trade the canoe on a lake for a kayak on the river, I can't ski or snowshoe here in Ohio but I can and do hike. And today? I put on a pair of size 12 pants and they fit nicely. From a size 16-18 six months ago.
There's no deadline with the weight loss and fitness. Just slow trudging toward an arbitrary goal (right now, looking at 170 and then possibly 160, which is where I was at 18). Still, I have days where it's very satisfying. When I can put on pants I couldn't have pulled up all the way, let alone fastened, just a few months ago. When my bra is so big around the chest band it is unwearable. When I can run for five minutes straight for the first time in years. I'm slow, I'm fat, but man! I can do this again! I'll probably never again break a five-minute mile. I don't care. I can do this.
And it feels good.
Ok. Until my feet hurt at the end of the day and I need to put them up. Still feels satisfying, though.