Allow me to begin this post by saying that this is my 575th blog post (I might be a little off) which is kind of wild. I know that a few people read this and I think my Facebook linking and occasional Twitter linking might have added some readers. Those readers include family and parents. So let me go on record with my Ramblings Policy on Parents and Blogging.
"I use this blog as a part-journal, part-creative outlet, part-venting zone. As such, there might be things that will give you possible cause for concern. Know that writing these posts are not my passive-aggressive way of letting you know. If I think there are issues that I need help with, I promise to bring them up".
I add that caveat because I was reading a post from The Bloggess about her struggles with depression and thoughts of suicide at times and was greatly encouraged by the hundreds of commenters who came into the light and admitted their own struggles with these issues. I thought about my own struggles with depression/anxiety/whatever.
Lest you worry, I'm doing quite good currently. I was running, because my girlfriend wants me to be healthier and I think the idea of not getting Type 2 Diabetes is a good idea. Though it might be worth it if I could meet Wilford Brimley. He seems like a pretty cool dude. I've had a body image issue, mostly related to my chubbiness since I was a kid. I told other kids it wasn't fat, just skin waiting be grown into. I realize now it is like having a pimple. The person you're talking to doesn't really notice, but you feel like you're saying, "Holy Shit! Look at the thing on my face!"
So I would use the fat kid syndrome and teasing myself before others got the chance to became my M.O. I'm quite good at being unhappy when I'd look in the mirror. The odd thing is that it never really translated into me wanting to do anything about it. I'd go to the gym for a bit and then stop. I think that secretly I liked it because it gave more ammo to my self-loathing side, so I was sort of trapped.
Until the day came that I looked in the mirror and said "Whatever." I'm not morbidly obese. I'm okay with the way I look and while I would like to be a little slimmer, I'm alright with the body I have. And an amazing thing happened. I started running. I never did when I hated my body, but as soon as I accepted it, all the pressure to lose weight left and I figured I'd just try it.
So I've been running for about 8 months a few times a week and you know what? I hate running. Bet you thought I was going to say something else. I hate the dread of having to go run. I don't enjoy the running part. And I don't necessarily feel better physically for having done it. But I do feel a sense of accomplishment, akin to me dropping off the Netflix and getting the dry cleaning after work. And if that low sense of accomplishment allows me to stay marginally healthy, then that's fine.
So I run a 5K a year and it takes me about 6 months to train. The one I ran on Thanksgiving was cold and I was slow and made the mistake of pouring water on my head because I saw the people in marathons do it. I learned that you don't really do that when the temperatures are low. Sort of affects your running. Live and learn.
I'm going to go running today. I ran to CVS last night to get vitamins and when I was running back, it sounded like there was a maracas band behind me. Got a lot of odd looks. So if you're in DC and you see a guy stumbling around or leering at you. It's me without my glasses. Pay no attention to me. Unless I'm in the gutter. Then call someone .