I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. A lot of trying to not think about this. But a lot of thinking about it anyway. The reason is mostly because I have not been running. Pretty much at all. Because the half marathon shattered my IT Band and piriformis (again). And has inhibited me from running. That, plus a week of being pretty sick, and a few stressful workdays have produced an incredibly lazy form of myself. I’d swear I gained 10 pounds in the past month but what the hell do I know? I can’t look at myself correctly (at least I’ve figured this out about myself).
So I am pretty anxious about it. When I got sick, I weighed myself towards the end of the week long sickness (barely eating) and I had lost 4 pounds. Despite my fever, I was elated. As always when a number on the scale drops.
I wish that food wasn’t such an enemy. I wish I exercised more. I wish I hadn’t gained this (imaginary or not) extra 10 pounds.
When I got sick I took sharp dive into disordered thinking, and it’s been really difficult to keep fending it off. Especially with thanksgiving. I took such a sharp dive that I counted calories while I was still sick. I was actually thinking that I was glad I got sick because I knew I was losing weight due to not eating. That’s also a reason I haven’t written in so long. I was so consumed with this inner struggle of wanting to continue that thinking, and trying to remind myself that’s not a smart road to take. And I guess the disordered thinking was winning because writing about it, in a way, is saying the smart side is winning–because at the very least, I am acknowledging that I know it’s not good.
So now here I am, still thinking about thinking unhealthy weight loss is a potentially good plan for myself. But I just hate that my stomach is jiggly when I merely walk or get up from sitting. It’s pretty disgusting. Good thing I don’t live near a beach because nice weather that calls for skimpy clothes would not be a good idea on my body right now.
I don’t know. Inner struggle that I refuse to talk to anyone about = sudden mini breakdowns and random sudden depression when I can’t handle it just on my own anymore.
Just man the fuck up.
That’s what I tell myself. But I still look and feel fat. I need to actually do something about it.
I just want to run. Fucking IT band, I fucking hate you.