New Years Eve was spent, in part, with my parents. Dayle and I had dinner with them in Reston and good times were had by all. I’m sure you’re wondering, “Where is the problem?” But the problem I speak of is not with dinner, New Years, or any of that. The problem I speak of is with me, myself and I. Admittedly I was reluctant to post this, but that’s often the nature with the most telling of blog posts. Okay, that’s not always true, but I need an increased level of accountability with this one.
The big hoopla behind dinner was that I tucked in my shirt. For context, I rarely tuck in my shirt unless the situation absolutely calls for it. It’s not that I hate dressing up or looking a specific way, but there’s something about a tucked in shirt that screams formality and the 7 year old in me doesn’t like that. I can wear a tie or even a suit with the best of them, but not until it’s super-required (see: weddings and my sister’s graduation). Tucking in my shirt required khaki pants, not a problem as I have a decent selection. Sadly the khaki pants themselves turned out to be the problem, as nearly all of them did not fit.
Now I’m not saying my physique has ever rivaled that of Adonis, but I feel like there was a point in time that I could comfortably say I was in shape. Not American Gladiators, but in shape. Those days have apparently left me.
I felt embarrassed by my lack of fitting-ness. I knew somehting was up when I wore my suit to a wedding this past fall, but it didn’t seriously sink in until a few hours before our New Years Eve dinner that I am out of shape. My A1C might be in a good spot, but the rest of me isn’t. It sucks. Big time.
Now I’m looking at this Cherry Blossom 10-miler with even more purpose. Because I don’t want to spend the money on all new pants, and I’ve already paid my registration fee for the run, I really need to get my butt in gear. Except for the peak of my tennis “career” in high school, running has never, ever been a favorite activity, but I need this. Bad.
I blame myself for not recognizing the lethargy setting in. I blame myself for thinking that my metabolism would stay where it was when I was 22 and bench pressing 295 lbs. I blame myself for not taking the entirety of proper diabetes management seriously.
But at least I have something to aim for again. Assuming I will develop the lung capacity and physical potential to run 10 miles, shedding a few pounds will be a lovely benefit.