We have so little control over things in life. Although I desperately try to plan and fulfill those plans, life seems to get in the way. Earlier this year I decided that I wanted to take control of my health and waistline, so I joined a gym and hired a personal trainer. I went into it with more optimism than I ever did before. I was determined that I was going to make progress and fit comfortably into my jeans. I was going strong for about a month.
Then my grandfather died.
At 89 and in failing health, I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. I didn’t think it was going to happen yet. I thought I had a few more visits.
Somewhere in the midst of my grief and depression, the late night binges of sweets began again. The gym fell to the wayside. I still attended my once a week session, but I wasn’t going to achieve my goal by going once a week. I felt guilty when I didn’t go, but it seemed like too much of a chore. As the weeks passed by, I felt like such a failure; another goal I didn’t achieve. So, I might as well have a handful of M+Ms and a bowl of ice cream and then some pretzels because, why not? My jeans won’t fit anyway.
The scale showed I gained back most of what I had lost. The voice in my head already defeated me and told me there was no point in trying.
However, two weeks ago I decided to shut her up. I decided that every day is a chance to start again. Maybe I “failed” yesterday, but I can try again today. I got back to the gym and started walking more. I'm going into it with a "anything is better than nothing" attitude. Maybe I don't have time to walk for miles, but I can do 30 minutes.
There is very little I can control, but I can improve my diet and move more. And even though my jeans still don't fit the way I want, my cholesterol levels improved in the last three months, so I guess my effort, even when it wasn't the best it could be, was good for something.