..just BAM and the smoke smells way to good.

The smell of cigarette smoke is doing me in.

My main question is: why now?  Why now am I feeling so vulnerable when faced with the urge to smoke.  The urge that for months has been completely absent and is now rearing it’s alluring inviting enticing ugly head?  Before all I had to do was remind myself how hard it was so stop, the health benefits – both immediate (ability to breath) and future (life itself),how unfair it was to keep smoking after my finance quit, how much I wanted to do this for my father.  Once I reminded myself of these things the desire to smoke would vanish instantaneously.  Now as I sit here I find myself wondering what all the fuss was about.  I miss it.

The funny thing is that I have always been really firm in my commitments to stop something.  Too firm at times perhaps.  It has gone so far as to take on a defining quality.  I AM that person who is strong willed, hard headed, and stubborn.  Who can set her mind to anything (self control wise) and just do it.  Once I concede that it’s time to give something up – well that’s it – done, finito, gone.  But therein lies the problem.

I have become so internally defined with my ability to limit and restrict that I can’t stop.  I have come to thrive on (or rather suffer from) my personal, epic battles of will power.

But now I am left asking: in constantly ’taking away’ from myself with goals of raising my own personal bar, what am I going to be left with?  Life is slowly but surely loosing the fun, the carefree, the enjoyable.  I actually once considered myself SPONTANEOUS.  Where have those days gone?  According to the records I am only 21 years old after all.

Can you understand how unsettling it is to have such urges to smoke?  If I were to give in to such an urge, where would the cycle lead me?  How would I define myself?  How would others’ view of me change?  If I started smoking again and told myself that if I quit once I could do it again – what would stop me from starting everything else I have stopped with the same justification.  What would stop me from winding up back in my car, family and friendless, with drugs as my sole desired companion.  Drugs and words anyway.  I have always believed a saying I once heard, something that has always stuck with me: The first time you try to quit, it’s easy. [ I take that to mean relatively so - in other words, don't throw away your one 'free-pass'.  Not that it is exactly 'easy' the first time, but I sure as hell don't want to know what the non-easy subsequent tries are like.]

I am leading this refined and sifted life that I (non-religiously) imposed upon myself.  For me it has always been all or nothing.  Entirely ‘out there’ or entirely ’here’.  Entirely absent or entirely present.  For some reason there is no give and take in me – it’s entirely give or entirely take.

Why the sudden insecurities?  Nothing bad, nothing troubling, no real bout of depressive thoughts – just BAM and the smoke smells way to good.   

   

A Real Hurt; An Earned Pain

I do not normally do this.  Bike ride I mean.  Even a couple of months ago, after convincing Casey [he requests his name be put in full...] to take the bikes out, getting around the block was a struggle.  Okay, it was more than a struggle and I had to get off and walk uphill (by ‘hill’ I am referring to the slight rises in the pavement) more than once. So please, tell me exactly how it is that two days in a row I have taken my bike on a solitary trek through the hills (real ones this time)? As the miles fall behind me it is as if I am being projected forward.  Yes, the hills still hurt like a son of a … Well, needless to say they are not very easy, but the fact of the matter is that I was able to get past them.  I have found there is an indescribable feeling as the bike passes the high point and starts its plummet down the other side.  With legs that simultaneously burn and feel like jello, all I can do is hold on and hope, in desperation, that whatever steering I am able to do will be enough to save me from hitting a rock or bump in the trail – sending me, as my mind pictures frequently, catapulting through the air and down the hillside.

The green.  I am a slave to the green of the hills.  As I wind my way through the hillside, it steals all other thought from my mind until all I have left is an awe at the beauty in life.  The surreal.  The smell of being outside – the smell of dirt itself.   Connecting with the smells and sights that for me, recall a childhood connectedness with the outdoors.  Becoming in tune with life…with myself.

Alone.  Yes, I am aware that this is contrary to anything remotely advisable (especially in mountain lion terrain), but it cannot be helped.  Okay, the first day it could not be helped. Casey was at work and I was off early.  I needed something to do and a ride around the block simply turned into this grand adventure.  The second day?  By the second day I figured out how much it means to me to do this alone.  The entire ride was me against myself – conquering, learning, coping, surpassing.  I do have it in me to get over this incredibly tall, rocky hill.  I am brave enough to go speeding down the side of a mountain.   I can take the trails I am not familiar with and find out where their tiny, winding, barely visible paths lead.  I want to see the lake such-and-such a sign tells me is three more miles up.  And lastly, something equally significant as the rest, I can do all these things and then make my way back home.  The return trip where all the pedaling hurts so much more, the hills seem so much higher, the distance greater.  I can do this too.  I can make it back to my door.  Sore.  Utterly exhausted.  Spent. What a feeling.  Yesterday morning my muscles hurt in an uncomfortable sort of way.  Then I took my bike out and went longer, further, harder.  This morning my muscles are sore but in an almost pleasant way.  It seems that this is how I am supposed to feel. That this is how you feel when you tell your body to do things, and it responds by accomplishing what you ask of it.  This feeling is completely new to me.

Last fall I could hardly walk.  Could hardly get out of bed.  Between the smoking and the complete absence of the thyroid hormone T3, I was hardly able to function.  I still did it all [caffeinated to an incredibly high degree mind you]. Still commuted to work and school.  Still took on way more than I should have and still managed to somehow get it all done.  But it hurt. I hurt.  Walking was a challenge.  Lifting.each.leg.up. was a matter of will because at about 100 pounds (which, by the way, is counter-intuitive to hypothyroidism) all my muscles were atrophied to practically nothing and my lower legs were so swollen I could hardly pull a sock over them.  And the stairs at school? The ‘Jans steps’?  They were my personal hell.

Quit smoking.  New medicine.  Health(ier) eating.  A bit of time.  Now I almost feel REAL.  At least in a physical way.  Today, I am sore.  I can feel the muscles over my stomach contracting each time I take a breath. My body hurts, but simply put, it SHOULD.

Well, okay, lets quit that too…

It’s the creamer.  It has to be.

 

I happen to be one of those people who are doomed to be forever battling with weight issues.  If I am not carrying a bit too much around with me, then I am on my way to skeleton-ville.  For some reason I can’t seem to find equilibrium – always on the up, or down, swing.

 

With that said, I unfortunately find myself at an impasse.  By all accounts, I should be dropping pounds like there is no tomorrow.  I am going to the gym on a regular basis and giving my body a healthy (over)dose of cardio and strength training.  This, by the way, is somewhat unusual for me and by its lonesome, should be resulting in visibly slimming results.  I have combined this with eating a very healthy diet.  At least what has always worked for me in the past:

Salads with low calorie dressing

Fruits, steamed vegetables

Low calorie wraps with Deli Turkey

…..and coffee and tea (lots) with sugar free creamer and packs of sweet n’ low.  I suppose with all the healthy eating and exercising I may be pouring the creamer a bit too liberally.

 

This one has me a bit stumped.  As I go to pull on yet another pair of jeans from my ‘lets keep these around just in case I get a bit heavy pile’ and find them on the tight side, my mood shifts.  I find myself getting more and more bitter about the fact that all my hard work is paying me a negative return.  Why is it again that I am not going out to eat (which I obviously love to do way too much) and eating bottomless bowls of pasta and never ending baskets of bread?  Why did I work so hard to get all of that dreaded ‘holiday’ weight (okay lets call it NOVEMBER-DECEMBER weight since I gave myself free reign with food during the whole of those two months) – off?

 

It’s the creamer.  Or at least that’s what I can think of to cut.  Oh, I don’t want to do it.  I have this attachment to my creamer that goes back quite a few years now.  It’s good, it’s candy, and until now, it has been the one indulgence I have refused to abandon.  Sadly, it seems that time is over – at least for a while.  Hey, maybe if my coffee (which I make myself – out of extra fine (Turkish) ground espresso beans) doesn’t taste as good, I will drink less of it.  Plus, tea might be better for you if you can actually taste the tea and not just the pseudo-sugary goodness you put in it.

 We shall see…

Back In The Kitchen

Okay, I don’t feel good – so why can’t I admit that to myself?  I woke up this morning and have been repeating over and over the though ‘No, you actually feel fine…good even…start your day and get out of the house.’  At the moment this just not true.  No I do not ‘feel fine’, I feel like I was run over repeatedly by one of those huge metro buses  – - hmm, how to explain…everything from my head, to my stomach, to my skin just feels like shit hurts.

 No it’s not a hangover.  Well not in the alcohol and drug sense of the word.  What I am wondering is if you can get a hangover from food.  Yes, I know that anyone can probably eat until they make their stomach hurt – but does their entire body hurt the next day?  This is a reoccurring thing with me and I find it utterly confusing.  I am not one for sugar/sweet indulgences but on occasion[<-- that was a lie, in reality it's quite often] I feel extremely hungry and compensate by eating a large amount of food.  [As a side note: I do try to stick with relatively healthy foods such as fruit, meats, lower fat items ...not that I am always successful...].  What I want to know about is the physical effects this has on my body the next day.  I once likened the feeling to having a bruise over my entire body. My skin becomes painful to the touch, in addition to the more obvious symptoms such as a headache and stomach pains.

 I can’t help but wonder if this is a typical response to overeating.  I do know that it has a disastrous snowball effect in that once I feel this crapy bad, all I want to do is comfort myself with food.  Yes I do know that it will not help and will make things worse – but this knowledge does not seem to be enough of a deterrent.  It might even be that knowing this makes me more prone to head back into the kitchen.  ‘Oh you don’t think you can feel any worse, well lets see about that,’ or ‘I know you planned all night to work out today but you don’t feel good, might as well eat instead…’.

 It’s odd watching myself say these things to myself, knowing they are compete nonsense, but being somewhat at their beck and call.  I do know the consequences of actions like these.  I was overweight in my teen years and while I am currently a slim looking 5′7 130 lb woman [<-- that wasn't easy] – the weight/FOOD issue is a constant battle.

[Another side note I find interesting:  My finance does not share in these struggles.  He is healthy, extremely fit, eats what he wants, stops eating when he is reasonably full, works hard, and usually feels great with the exception of some version of IBS.  Watching him, for me, is like a science experiment.  I look at him go about his day without the obsessions that plague mine and I take him as proof that no, everyone in the world does not battle with this as I do. 'Ahem, no Andrea, you are not the center of the universe...'.

It seems that the problem of obesity and weight in general - in the U.S. and possibly elsewhere - is, at least in part, derived by own own obsession with restriction and substitutions in the name of healthy living.  C has never had to diet.  He cannot conceptualize why anyone would eat huge portions of something - past their comfort level.  While he doesn't eat low fat versions of food because they don't taste as good, he does avoid eating fast food saturated in oil too often - ie. more than a couple times a week... If he is hungry - he eats, when he's full that's it.  He has no anxiety whatsoever in conjunction with food. (I am reminded here of something I heard in an AA meeting several years ago.  They said that an alcoholic is unable to waste alcohol - can't understand how someone could drink half a glass and be done with it.  Are we simply becoming foodaholics? <--this word is not found in my computer's spell check function despite the fact it suggests 'workaholic, shopaholic, and chocoholic'...  The 'clean your plate before you leave the table' gone horribly wrong?)]