13 Weeks: What Do We Make of Times of Little Change?
I been contemplatin'.
That's a fiction character talking -- I don't know much about him, frankly he just popped into my head right now, but he's an older man, unschooled but wise, from the South, wearing faded denim overalls that weren't faded when he bought them. I can't really see his face yet.
He popped up when I thought of what to write today on my continuing efforts with diet and exercise. Which turned out to be as much about my mind as my middle. Like him, I been contemplatin' -- where I am and what I'm doing and in particular what to say today about diets and such.
After a couple of promising weeks, it's clear that either I'm still on my plateau or, if you like, that my plateau broke and I immediately hit another one, about 3-5 pounds down. This is frustrating. I haven't done the hard-core slow-carb diet, and the wimpy version I've been doing hasn't led to a lot of weight loss. Nor has doing the tabata etc.
Still, my blood sugar is stable, if a touch too high, but I'm not having the hypoglycemic episodes, and that's good. Some combination of things -- Pomodoro Technique, a new boss at the day job who actually listens to me instead of telling me to sit down and shut up, the new columns -- has got me writing more than I really ever had, and every day of that I learn more about how to write through little blocks and struggles. And I have lost a good solid 30 pounds and I'm clearly keeping it off.
And you know, a year ago I was contemplatin' too. My mother had died the previous January, just a couple days before her 77th birthday, and she was 20 when I was born. I was looking at my 57th birthday and realizing she'd died at 77 and my father had died not long after his 69th birthday and I didn't like the way that subtraction worked out. And I'd lost a lot of time to my long struggle with depression, that kept taking me out of the fight to do what I really wanted, and had reduced me to doing what I needed to do to get by, to survive.