I've Been Lying

Remember when I was told I'd really let myself go at the gym?  Remember all the lessons I learned?

I did learn those lessons. I did feel them.

But I'd be lying if I said that man's words don't still haunt me every time I step into the gym.  I've lied many times when someone asks me if it bothers me when I see him and I respond that it doesn't.  I've lied to that man when I avoid his gaze instead of talking with him.  I should explain to him that I'm not avoiding him to treat him with cruelty, but I'm avoiding him because I am afraid of what he will say.  I'd be lying if I said I have never looked in the mirror and thought, "Man, I can't go to the gym when so-and-so will be there because he'll see how much I've let myself go."

Truth is, I have gained a little bit of weight (not a lot, but enough to make me uncomfortable) trying to figure out my new eating regime with the medication I'm on to try and heal my Laryngopharyngeal Reflux.  The medication makes my belly ache a lot, and I haven't learned to distinguish between hunger and ache if that make sense.  I haven't "let myself go," but I have had to learn to let go of myself.  I've had to let go of my pride so I can get my health in order outside of physical fitness.

I don't like the way I feel right now.  I am determined to change it.  I am grateful that after only two months I am able to gather the energy it will take to be my best self even if it is more of a challenge while my reflux damage is healing (side effects make my joints and muscles rather achy rather quickly, my head achy, and I'm exhausted all.the.time).

While I am figuring my new routine out, the last thing I should be doing is worrying about what other people are thinking of my current state of fitness.  I want to shout to the world about why I am currently a little off, which I guess I'm doing by blogging about it.  But I can't literally shout it to everyone.  And I'm embarrassed.  I know I shouldn't be, but that doesn't stop the way I feel.  No one can see what I'm going through inside mentally and physically, yet everyone can see my muffin top doth overfloweth.   

This experience is giving me a little perspective I've never had before.  I don't have any words of wisdom or cutesy things to say about what we/I should learn from this.  Maybe I will eventually, but right now all I've got to say is, "I'm trying," and, "I will be honest...to myself and to you."  I let this thing control me for a little while.  No more.  I'm taking the reigns.