Accountability...and the Guilt
I've been a super active person my entire life. Fitness isn't something I intended to take seriously; it simply became a part of who I am. It makes sense that I started distance running a dozen years ago as the next step in my fitness evolution.
I have never had serious fitness motivation problems. Even after my month-long hospital stay in 2014 I was ready to start running again a few months later. This last year, however, has been different. For the first time in my entire life I'm having serious motivation issues. There are legit health reasons for them, but that doesn't change the fact that they exist. And it's not the first time I've been sidelined by my health. This time it's just been harder to come back.
The timeline is brutal. Abscess in October 2016 (a week after the Detroit Half Marathon, my last half). That abscess drained for ten months until the drain was removed in August of last year. It definitely affected my running. I spent a week in the hospital last February for a bowel obstruction. I started lacing up my shoes again in the summer only to tear my meniscus and be sidelined by surgery. I promised myself by January 1 I'd be back to working out at least 5-6 days a week.
The problem is that I'm not. I. Am. Exhausted. I'm working more hours in the day than I'm not. I'm not complaining; I absolutely love my job. For the first time in my career I have the trifecta: I believe 150 percent in what I'm doing, I work for someone who wholeheartedly supports and respects me, and I get to improve my city. It's a dream. But I'm having a really hard time waking up early to work out, my best time. And at this point my work/life schedule does not allow me to work out at any other time than 5:15 a.m. If it doesn't happen then, it won't happen.
I decided that on February 1 things would change. I would post a blog and tell all of you in the blogosphere and social media that enough is enough. I will start working out again. I'll actually start training for the three races I'm running the first weekend in May. I will find myself again, and it will be glorious.
February 1 was last Friday, and over the weekend I was going to get serious. I was going to log some miles and do some cross training. No more excuses. Saturday I went to breakfast followed by grocery shopping with my boys. I came home and walked the dog and did a super intense core workout. Saturday mission accomplished.
All day Saturday I was starving. Sometimes this happens when I'm having a bit of a difficult Crohn's day (which I was), so I didn't think much of it. After dinner (and way too much pasta) I realized what I'd missed: I had a bowel obstruction.
To that point I'd had three bowel obstructions. One in 2012 resolved itself (after an overnight hospital stay). One in 2014 required surgery. One last year required seven days in the hospital with an NG tube sucking the grossness out of my stomach to resolve. An obstruction is no joke.
I crawled into bed (and I do mean crawled...I was in so much pain I couldn't stand upright) at 8 p.m. I tried to downplay my stress, but I was freaking out. I fell into a fitful half sleep waking up regularly by the severe stomach pain (an eight on a scale of one to ten). I knew it was an obstruction. The pain is very specific. I woke up at 1 a.m. and watched an episode of This is Us. (I freaking love that show). It didn't distract me. At 2 a.m. I was anxiously looking at my calendar, my boss's State of the City looming on Wednesday, and wondering if I could go to the hospital and be home for the speech. I was panicked.
Finally, around 4 a.m. the situation sort of resolved itself. But bowel obstructions are tricky. It can be a full or partial obstruction given the symptoms, and at that point I wasn't sure it wasn't still a partial obstruction.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling like I had been punched in the stomach all night. I was feeling somewhat better but still not myself. On Monday I went to work sporting a big puffy midi-skirt to hide my insanely swollen stomach. Today the swelling has mostly gone down, and the pain level is a manageable three or four. I called my doctor today and he told me to go to the ER. I chose to ignore it and am typing this blog instead.
Am I an idiot? Yes, of course I am. But here's the thing with chronic illness: I know how the story ends. I go to the ER, I wait forever, get some narcotics, get a CT scan, blood work, and at this point, given my symptoms, probably get sent home on an easier diet. It's not my first rodeo. I am pretty sure the obstruction has cleared, and I do not have time for this shit (literally).
Then there's the pervasive guilt: the mom guilt, the wife guilt, the work guilt. Taking time work out instead of spending time with my child feels terribly selfish given how much I'm working. If I don't take care of myself, I can't handle all of it. If I am too careful, I can't handle all of it. So I live somewhere in this middle ground of trying to determine how much I can push myself and still be the mom boss I want to be.
So right now working out is at the bottom of the list. I hate it. I need an outlet, and I need a way to work out the stress. The State of the City is today, and after that I will refocus. I will start working out again. I will start running. I won't post a before picture of myself before my exercise refocus because for real...nobody wants to see it. (The stomach swelling has not entirely abated). But it's a precarious balance, you know? Exercise will make its way back into my priorities in place of sleep. Until then I'll try to enjoy the extra z's and give myself a break. Or I'll feel super guilty constantly that my dresses don't fit. Probably the latter.
I have never had serious fitness motivation problems. Even after my month-long hospital stay in 2014 I was ready to start running again a few months later. This last year, however, has been different. For the first time in my entire life I'm having serious motivation issues. There are legit health reasons for them, but that doesn't change the fact that they exist. And it's not the first time I've been sidelined by my health. This time it's just been harder to come back.
The timeline is brutal. Abscess in October 2016 (a week after the Detroit Half Marathon, my last half). That abscess drained for ten months until the drain was removed in August of last year. It definitely affected my running. I spent a week in the hospital last February for a bowel obstruction. I started lacing up my shoes again in the summer only to tear my meniscus and be sidelined by surgery. I promised myself by January 1 I'd be back to working out at least 5-6 days a week.
The problem is that I'm not. I. Am. Exhausted. I'm working more hours in the day than I'm not. I'm not complaining; I absolutely love my job. For the first time in my career I have the trifecta: I believe 150 percent in what I'm doing, I work for someone who wholeheartedly supports and respects me, and I get to improve my city. It's a dream. But I'm having a really hard time waking up early to work out, my best time. And at this point my work/life schedule does not allow me to work out at any other time than 5:15 a.m. If it doesn't happen then, it won't happen.
I decided that on February 1 things would change. I would post a blog and tell all of you in the blogosphere and social media that enough is enough. I will start working out again. I'll actually start training for the three races I'm running the first weekend in May. I will find myself again, and it will be glorious.
February 1 was last Friday, and over the weekend I was going to get serious. I was going to log some miles and do some cross training. No more excuses. Saturday I went to breakfast followed by grocery shopping with my boys. I came home and walked the dog and did a super intense core workout. Saturday mission accomplished.
All day Saturday I was starving. Sometimes this happens when I'm having a bit of a difficult Crohn's day (which I was), so I didn't think much of it. After dinner (and way too much pasta) I realized what I'd missed: I had a bowel obstruction.
To that point I'd had three bowel obstructions. One in 2012 resolved itself (after an overnight hospital stay). One in 2014 required surgery. One last year required seven days in the hospital with an NG tube sucking the grossness out of my stomach to resolve. An obstruction is no joke.
I crawled into bed (and I do mean crawled...I was in so much pain I couldn't stand upright) at 8 p.m. I tried to downplay my stress, but I was freaking out. I fell into a fitful half sleep waking up regularly by the severe stomach pain (an eight on a scale of one to ten). I knew it was an obstruction. The pain is very specific. I woke up at 1 a.m. and watched an episode of This is Us. (I freaking love that show). It didn't distract me. At 2 a.m. I was anxiously looking at my calendar, my boss's State of the City looming on Wednesday, and wondering if I could go to the hospital and be home for the speech. I was panicked.
Finally, around 4 a.m. the situation sort of resolved itself. But bowel obstructions are tricky. It can be a full or partial obstruction given the symptoms, and at that point I wasn't sure it wasn't still a partial obstruction.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling like I had been punched in the stomach all night. I was feeling somewhat better but still not myself. On Monday I went to work sporting a big puffy midi-skirt to hide my insanely swollen stomach. Today the swelling has mostly gone down, and the pain level is a manageable three or four. I called my doctor today and he told me to go to the ER. I chose to ignore it and am typing this blog instead.
Am I an idiot? Yes, of course I am. But here's the thing with chronic illness: I know how the story ends. I go to the ER, I wait forever, get some narcotics, get a CT scan, blood work, and at this point, given my symptoms, probably get sent home on an easier diet. It's not my first rodeo. I am pretty sure the obstruction has cleared, and I do not have time for this shit (literally).
Then there's the pervasive guilt: the mom guilt, the wife guilt, the work guilt. Taking time work out instead of spending time with my child feels terribly selfish given how much I'm working. If I don't take care of myself, I can't handle all of it. If I am too careful, I can't handle all of it. So I live somewhere in this middle ground of trying to determine how much I can push myself and still be the mom boss I want to be.
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| Evening speech writing last week |
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