I have refrained from posting for some time now. I have struggled with topics that go nowhere or the ranting of a crazy menopausal woman. I am unsure, even now, why and what I am writing.
I will tell you that I have been hit with the are you kidding me? stick. I began the year with this crazy injury to my left hand spawned by removing a lovely baked brie from my oven. I moved on to various ‘female issues’, food poisoning and ending this run with a stress fracture on my right foot.
I really am trying to be a good sport but it is getting harder.
I started the Jenny Craig diet three weeks ago to remove the lovely inner tube gathered around my midsection. My calorie allotment is 1200 per day and that consists of three meals and three snacks. The food is very palatable. (except for the tuna salad, which I believe caused the food poisoning mentioned above). I have not been cranky with the low calorie intake because I have learned how to bargain food for wine….just saying.
Exercise is critical to my happiness. Zumba, Spin, Body Pump and running all help my mind release and relax. I need that stimulant first thing in the morning and I was able to keep it up with the cast on the thumb. Now with this boot on, I can no longer do any of it. But that will not stop me. I emailed my friend Terri and told her since I am up every day at 4:45am, I mind as well continue to share my morning yogurt with her and Friday, I will do just that. I wonder if I can take this boot to Plane’s Bike Shop and see if they can install a clip to the bottom so I can spin…I bet they can! I also remember fondly that “drunk girl” did both Zumba and Body Pump with a boot on. Granted, she wobbled quite a bit, not sure if it was from the boot or the Kettle One.
Chip is growing weary of my energy and enthusiasm at 4:45am and I think is considering how to drug me, ever so carefully so I sleep till at least 6am. (Perhaps he should take advantage of it, hee-hee.)
I have welts on my good leg from kicking myself with that damn boot; I have almost taken a header going down the stairs and the sheer vision of my butt as I bend over in the Shoprite parking lot to put the boot back after driving will quite possibly land me a spot on the 6:00 news. My kindle is clouded with the many trashy e-books I have read in lieu of physical activity and I spend most evenings crying with the Hallmark Channel while my longing for Pitbull and some Zumba cumbia burns deep.
OK! Enough! Now I said my pity party peace and it’s time to buck up. I know I am lucky; I know that none of this will kill me and I know that in two weeks, when I see my oncologist and God wiling get the thumbs up for another six months, all of this will seem small. Because it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to hug-a-pug and swill an ice cold Diet Coke.