I. This morning, I woke up feeling sad. I do not know why, exactly. The day felt heavy already. Too much time alone, undoubtedly, and not being able to turn to my dear friend food to obliterate; oh the temporary highs and distraction.
When you are in weight watcher’s you talk a lot in meetings about emotional eating. Ultimately, “emotional…ing”, this is the heart of the matter for anyone who uses anything to attempt to fill up a hole in their lives, in themselves. Virtually everyone has something. Chronic anything is indicative of imbalance.
When it comes to food, the question is, when does an emotional eater eat? For some it’s simply negative feelings that provoke wonky eating patterns; for others, it’s anything. An extension of good feelings at a party; a positive celebration at a graduation or birthday. But, if you overeat, there is anxiety. It can be dulled, but it doesn’t go away. After indulgence, there is always shame. Some people are good at burying and denying. I personally have a limited skill set. It walks with me, and pokes at me. And reminds me of when I was a kid and food could be scarce at times. There wasn’t a time when we didn’t have food, but there was always this sense, what if we didn’t? I had been hungry enough not to be able to think of anything else and had seen those vacant eyed World Vision children; slow tears running down their faces, flies crawling about their bodies,too weak to brush them away. It looked so painful to be starving. I realize that my situation and theirs were worlds away from each other, but sometimes that grumbling tummy to a child is enough to make those worlds feel a lot closer.
Money was tight, and this lead to fight after fight after fight between my parents. It was scary for a little girl. There was a lot of not knowing about what might be around the corner. I didn’t quite realize how much this particular idea had stayed with me until I started writing about it; it is not all and everything, but obviously it is something. This exploration could go on, but I’d rather get back to the top of the day.
II. I got out of bed, and determined a run was in order. After a quick breakfast of blueberries on cereal (I don’t really change up my brek and lunch much), I hunted about for one of my sister’s hydration systems (eg. H2O bottle or camel back) as I cannot run without water. Headed out the door, into the woods, and oops, forgot my watch. I run intervals as I find it really helps my knees and I just in general prefer to have a fast paced walking break. I wouldn’t make it through half marathons any other way. Back to the house. Start again.
It started off rough. I forgot to use my puffers and my lungs were like, “Woman, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sassy attitude. And then my brain was off on a roll, thinking about how out of shape I am, thinking of all of the super fit people I know doing super fit things, not understanding why it felt so hard to do such a short run when a month and a half ago I did a half marathon. Not pretty. I started to panic. I know this makes no sense, but it hits you like a brick in the lungs.
And then it happened. I just said, “Stop please. One with your body, one with the earth.” Oh yes, my mind, the monkey that it is, kept coming back to other thoughts, but I forced it again and again to repeat this mantra. My breathing still labored but I relaxed a bit and it became better. It is a trek of patience and persistence. Once I start taking care of things, I want to be at the end. I do not want to wait months, and I do not want to let it be what it is. Nevertheless, this is where I am; with my body and my disquieted life. I do not have any idea where this is going. I didn’t realize that in almost a week, such strong feelings of loss would overwhelm me. It is not a matter of wanting to give up. I don’t. It is a loss of sorts; giving up a false sense of security. This good-bye knows it is overdue, but now that it’s here, it must be said. Au revoir, mon ami, bonjour salad, my new companion.