No More Trying

It's been about a week since my "Bob" post where I was all gung ho and motivated to embrace the year of hope and change. Things have been going well thus far. I've been sticking to the healthy plan. As of today, I've dropped about 3lbs. Not overwhelming progress, but at least it's something. Right?

When it comes to getting healthy, the operative word, for me, seems to be "trying." I keep trying. I try to get my 8 glasses of water in each day. I try to avoid food temptations. I try to eat more vegetables and fruits. I try to get in more activity. I try to make each workout a little harder than the time before. I try not to eat the bag of chips or the ice cream or the cake. Instead, I try to eat the oranges, the yogurt and the carrot sticks. I try. I try. I try.

Confession time: I absolutely HATE the word "trying."

Trying implies a desire to do something. It signifies attempt but not success, full completion or mastery. That sucks. Instead of merely trying, my goal is complete and instant accomplishment which, I realize, is quite foolish. When it comes to this game of living my best life, there will always and forever be "trying." The books, tv shows, podcasts and magazines all tell me it is about the journey and not the destination. In other words, it never ends. Health is a lifestyle one subscribes too for the long haul. It requires constant vigilance and self-monitoring. Tracking, counting, watching, running, lifting, biking, weighing, obsessing. Trying.

Frankly, right now, I am daunted by all of it. Today was a low day. I felt like a shut in all alone in my diet misery. Buried under a pile of work, most of the morning and afternoon was an exercise in trying (there's that damn word again) to claw my way up and out. Sure, I hope for this process to get easier as I begin to form habits. Ideally, I'd like exercise to become a routinized occurance. But, I'm a realist and just know I will always be plagued by stress or boredom which, for me, ignites a desire to eat a pound of smoked gouda, a bag of Doritos or hit the nearest drive-thru. I'm an emotional eater. A fierce longing for comfort foods courses through my veins. Maybe I didn't get enough love growing up. Maybe I swallowed (literally) my pain, loneliness or fears. Maybe my taste buds are hard wired to the pleasure center in my brain causing a chain reaction of endorphins and I'm like a heroin junky continually searching to reclaim that first "high?" I don't know what it is.

My pledge is to deal with the reality, break old patterns and try (dammit, that word again) to forge new coping mechanisms.

Maybe I need to eliminate the word "try" from my vocabulary. No more trying.

From now on, this is about doing, living, embracing my carb junky voodoo chemical brain and loving me enough to keep it in check. Doing is hard work people.

Viva la hope and change!