I find my relationship with my body interesting. Even more so after reading books like "Passing for Thin". There's this concept that if you're fat, you must be eating disordered and ashamed of your body. That there's this stigma placed on the body at all times.

I don't buy into that. I've worked very hard to get to this point, but I've discovered acceptance. I know what I look like, and frankly I don't give a flying fuck. The weight will come off once I exercise and continue eating right. Or maybe it won't. Either way, it's my body and I'm ok with it.

I've always said this but sometimes, many times I didn't really "buy" it, not deep down. Hell, even as recently as last December I was worried about how my friends would treat me because of my body. I don't much care anymore. I want to be strong; I want to be fit.

I joined a gym last month. Went from an idle idea between Julie and myself to a reality pretty quickly. I figured I'd be all for the classes, but with the exception of one positively absurd Tai Chi (and I use the term loosely) class, I haven't been to any of them. I've been following the very basic workout outline presented to me on my "Introduction to Circuit Training" session. 24 minutes of Cardio (usually the reclined bike, so I can read), stretching and then weights.

I realized yesterday when I went to gym after driving to and from Toronto that I've jumped levels already. The previously ok level on the bike barely raises my heart rate now and stretching hurts a lot less. YAY! Getting there.

Next up is to figure out what my max press is on the weights and see about starting some strength training instead of the simple lightweight stuff I have been puttering with. I want to be strong again. I don't care about the fat, but I do care about the weak. I've never been a weak person, and to have my body be that way right now really frustrates me.

During my fitness assessment they had me do the knee style push-ups. I managed 8 with this terrible muscle weakness in my shoulders and arms. I keep remembering how that felt, how internally angry I was at myself for allowing my body to become so weak. That's my goal in this coming month; I want to rock the fitness assessment next time around.

Problem is, I feel the niggling of obsession there. I want to go every day. I want to push myself really hard to get strong again, damnit. And I know that's a bad path for me to wander my way down. I'll burnout and stop going to the gym, in the best case. In the worse I could hurt myself or end up obsessing about my body and getting trapped into those negative thought patterns again. Self-hate isn't pretty and I don't want to play that game ever again.

Balance is the key, as it always is. I want to go 3 times a week, ideally. No more because that way obsession lies, No less because god it's expensive. *laughs* I love the irony in that I've become one of those fools that drive to the gym and I still don't walk to pick Sara up yet.

It's all in the finding of balance. Balance the gym, balance the chores, balance the game, balance my depressions and the treatment, balance a social life, balance my family, balance it all. I suspect I'm going to spend the rest of my life figuring this stuff out. It's not an easy answer that you put in place and it simply stays there. I'll find some measure of balance then something else comes along and knocks it all down. Then the work starts again.

Perhaps that now the Zoloft is working (Dr. Mckeown said yesterday that I'm on "target" for my depression level) it'll get easier to balance things out. Not always needing to stay mindful of where I'm at emotionally so that I don't miss my slip into the dark again. Knowing that when I wake up in the morning that I have a stable emotional base to start from. I think it'll help.

Wish the exhaustion and insomnia would fade though. Lovely side effects. Wooo!

And that's it for today. :)

I'm sluggishly dragging myself through my days lately. It's the 5-hour curse that's come to rest on me, I think. See, I'm an 8-hour person. I get my 8 hours of sleep a night, I can go through my day, awake, rested and present. Any more and I'm a groggy zombie, any less and I'm a cranky groggy zombie.

So, the 5-hour curse is simply this. I go to bed and exactly, and I mean exactly 5 hours later I wake up, fully alert, no chance of going back to sleep within this lifetime, or rather, morning. So this morning I woke up at 3:30am, and lay there for 30 minutes pleading with the gods to just let me sleep already.

No such luck.

I managed to sneak in another hour around 6am, but... god, this is killing me again. I know where it's come from too, my Zoloft. We've been playing tweak the drugs for a few months now and I'm at a substantial increase from the last time I was sleepwalking my way through my days. I hope that once again I'll balance out and feel level emotionally and awake physically.

It's funny too. I went to bed last night with this entire plan all formed and ready for today. I was going to use my awake time, the morning, to catch up on my neglected chores from the weekend. Then if I wasn't too in need of a nap, I was going to go to the gym in the afternoon, come home, have a bit of a nap, then pick up Sara. It was a nice plan. Too bad my night sleep was pooched.

I should've known better than to go to bed at 10:30. Ahh well. I'll do as much as I can this morning then go back to bed and nap some more. Perhaps the gym visit can be this evening after the masses are fed and I'm feeling more here. I don't know. The irony of it all is still very delicious. I feel better depression wise, and yet again I am too tired to do anything with it. At least I know it'll pass.

Oh god and I have that last order to fill too. *sighs* Back to one half an hour at a time living for me, I guess.

That's 12 minutes and I think I'm done writing for the day now. *laughs*