Starting over sucks. A lot.
In 2021 I lost twenty-five pounds. I did the things and the other things, and I got down to my high school weight.
Then Giselle died, and then we moved.
I struggled to get back into a good diet rhythm, but exercise was still working. I started running and got myself up to three miles, three days a week.
Then I got tendonitis in my Achilles tendon and could not walk more than half a mile at a time for roughly six weeks (and yes, I probably pushed it and made it worse).
I tried to start running again, got back up to two miles, but the weather stopped cooperating and I learned seasonal changes have a more profound affect on my mental health than they ever have before — or all the other stuff pastors have to do leading up when it the days get shorter and the weather gets colder affected me more this year.
Every week, on my day off, I intended to go to the Y to get a membership and start running the track or swimming, but I just never could convince myself to do it. And weeks turned into months of no real exercise and eating terribly.
I backslid. I have arrived back at the point I decided I had to makes changes in early 2021. Exact weight, exact pulmonary and cardiac feelings, exact difficulties sleeping.
This week I had another “Day One.” And it sucks. I know I can count calories lose weight again, I know I can start running again and doing yoga again, I know I have done this and can do it again, but starting over after having made it so far and then losing all of it — to the exact pound — is so hard.
But I did the thing, and the other thing, and a third thing. And then I did it again. And I will do it again.
Starting over sucks. I do not know why I feel drawn to send this into the world other than to name for everyone, myself included, that starting over sucks. No matter how big the thing is — habit, lifestyle, or life itself — it just sucks.
But you can do this, I can do this, we can do this, whatever this is.
P.S.: This is not a solicitation for advice, nor a cry for support.