Acceptance

I got up and went to the gym before work. Full 30 min on elliptical and full circuit of weights. My muscles are humming (tomorrow they will probably be screaming). Working out is a huge deal for me. I hate it. I resent it. I hate that I have to work so hard to feel good. Yeah, see - there's that entitlement thing again. I should just get to feel good and look good without any effort on my part.

Working out is a sign of acceptance for me. It says I accept that I have to work hard and not have everything I want. It says I accept that I have to wait to see results of my effort. It says I accept responsibility for the damage I have caused my body and it says I accept responsibility for changing that.

Not accepting these things is what lands me in that self-pity pit and kept me morbidly obese for the vast majority of my life. In 12 step meetings they say "Half measures availed us nothing." For me, only focusing on what I don't do or don't eat is only half. This isn't just about what I don't do. It's also about what I do. Especially since I got the band, it's relatively easy to not eat. Sure, I can get around it, but if I follow the rules, the band does most of that work for me. But the exercise - the proactive piece - that's all on me.

Do I want this or not? Am I willing to be an active participant in the process, rather than a passive recipient waiting for the weight loss fairy to visit me? If this is just about weight loss, then I suppose if I follow the rules and wait patiently, I will eventually get to goal weight. But it really isn't about just weight loss - otherwise it's just another in a lifetime of diets. This is a total transformation of my way of thinking about life, control, and personal responsibility. It is acceptance of reality, rather than insistence on maintaining my stubborn delusions of grandeur. Reality sucks - but at least it's real.

Shelly