Monday's Masochist

It's Monday. It's been a busy weekend of moving, again. I just want a place I can call my own. I want the chaos surrounding my love life to end. I want to stop loving my ex. I want my stalker to leave me alone. I want a million dollars and a killer body. I wake up to find my dreams did not deliver on any of those desires. I am bummed. I step on the scale and I gasp. There is a number staring back at me. A number I swore I would never see in my weight again. 270. Fuck. Last year at this time I was melting away the pounds. My weight started with a 2 again instead of the 3 it had begun with for so long. I lost 50 pounds. I felt fabulous. I was never going to stop! Then the perfect little life I had planned so meticulously crumbled around me. I lost my fiance. Moved out of my apartment. Lost my job. Worst of all, I lost hope. I lost my drive. For a long time, I lost me.

So there I stand until the number fades off of the scale. I have gained back 16 pounds of my 50. Doesn't sound like much in the big scheme of things to some people, I'm sure. Well, you go lose 16 pounds real quick and easy then, sucker. Let me know how it goes. It is a lot. But it wouldn't matter if it was 5 pounds or 35. The point is, I'm going the wrong direction. I'm getting lost in the current of chaos again. This is the one thing I actually have control over and I'm just blowing it. I glance towards my closet and see the bridesmaids dress I have to wear for my brothers wedding in 14 weeks. It doesn't zip all the way up. I ordered it at the peak of my weight loss. I love my family more than anything in the world and I can't let them down cuz I'm too fat to be in the wedding! As I step off the scale, something inside me breaks. Hooray, it wasn't my heart this time! I think it was my lazy bone. My excuses. My feeling sorry for myself. My half-ass attitude. I pack a healthy lunch, grab my gym bag and head to work.

9 a.m.
I'm talking with some co-workers and somehow we get on the subject of triathlons. I've always thought triathletes were crazy. Who does that for fun? Doing a triathlon sounds like about as much fun to me as selling American flags door to door in Iraq. But I find myself saying, "We should do one." A couple of them agree. I tell them we can all train together and see if we can get the company to sponsor us when we do it. I hit the web and start checking out triathlons so that I can be more familiar with what I've signed up to do. I realize quickly that I'm an idiot. But that's not going to stop me. There are a lot of 16 week training programs. True, these are for people who probably aren't 110 pounds over weight but since when would I let common sense stop me? I can do this. I'm not going to do it thinking I'll win. I just want to finish it. I want to say I did it. And I know training for this will guarantee I can get in the dress for my bro's wedding.

2 p.m.
It's a beautiful day outside. I'm done with all my clients at work. I leave early and hit the gym. I do 1.5 miles on the treadmill. It takes just under 30 minutes. I don't run yet. I'm too scared. After that I get on the bike and ride 3.5 miles in 10 minutes. Not bad. I'm keeping up a pretty good pace. That will definitely be my easier of the three events. I leave the gym happy. It's a beautiful day and I got some good cardio in. I call my friend and see what he's doing. He's being a bum and playing Playstation. I tell him to get dressed. I pick him up and we go for a walk. Another mile. I'm feeling pretty good. 6 miles today. Pretty sure I can't tell you the last time I went that far and it wasn't by car.