Not the Weekend I Wanted
This was the weekend of the Five-Boro Bike Tour.
I look forward to this ride for one reason: Riding with my friend NI.
The rest of it is OK. Thirty-two thousand riders make for quite the spectacle.
The ride was Sunday. I had a good time on Saturday. I met up with NI and a friend of his and we traipsed around the city, had a good lunch, did the registration thing…
It was Sunday that The Black Dog took his bite and I couldn’t, or didn’t, fight back.
I awoke at 4:00 AM, got ready for the ride, loaded up the car and drove in the New York City. By 5:30, I was approaching the area where I would meet NI. Then it happened. The stress? A stomach bug? I am not sure. I pulled over to the curb on a side street in lower Manhattan. There and then, I lost what little breakfast I had.
I contemplated this. Thought about what it was all about. What caused this? I turned around, went home and went to sleep. I didn’t do the ride.
I never really felt any better yesterday. I thought I would ride in the afternoon if I did but I didn’t I didn’t feel much better and I didn’t ride. Riding might have been the best thing for me. Doing the tour might have been the best thing for me.
I simply couldn’t fight The Black Dog.
I sat on the sofa speaking to no one, doing nothing. I wanted to climb into a hole and pull the earth back over me.
I don’t like when this happens (no kidding, right?) and I am not sure why it does. I wish I could understand what is happening in my head a little better.
If I did understand it better, then maybe this would have been the weekend I wanted.
I am not living the life I imagined I would have when I was a teen and well in to my twenties and even my early thirties.
I didn’t expect to need two jobs. I didn’t expect not to be able to afford a vacation once a year or to have the difficulties I have. This is not what I expected at all. I really don’t like my career. I am good at it. I just don’t like it. I don’t have time to do the things I like. I work seven days a week. I take off a weekend and I feel guilty. I am taking money out of the family pot and I am leaving the shop shorthanded. I don’t get to do the activities I so enjoy: hiking, cycling, spending time with my family and friends.
It is the guilt that cripples me. If I work all seven days, I feel guilty for taking time away from the family. If I don’t work the weekend, I feel guilt over not making the money.
This is not a way to live. This is a way to die.
At this time there is little I can do to change all this. I have to keep pushing. I am not sure where this pushing will get me but I have to. There is no other choice.
So I deal with the guilt.
I am the heaviest I have been since the middle of the summer of 2012. I am up to 217. This is not a good thing. I have no excuses. I have given in to the depression and the stress and I have over-eaten. I have not pushed past the depression to get on the bike. I have walked. HUGE amounts of walking. I have set a course in the factory and I make sure I walk it throughout the day. It is great for fitness. I am fit. But I have out-eaten the calories I am burning and that is no one’s fault or responsibility but my own.
217-pounds. Pants are getting a little snug. T-shirts are getting a little tight.
I have to get back to what I know works and I need to stay there. I have indulged. Cookies. Buffet. Not what, who or where I want to be.
It will not stand.
Getting it back together
I will take some days off work in the next couple of weeks. Take a few vacation days. I will get on my bike and ride. I will get out and hike. PGB is sometimes available mid-week. Perhaps he will be able to join me for a hike in Harriman.
If I don’t get my mind cleared and my heart right I will surely end up either insane or fat. Insane I can accept. Fat I cannot.
I understand the expression “a life lived in quiet desperation” now. I didn’t always. I do now.
Things have to change. I need to make them change. I need to get my heart and mind back on the same page, focused on the same goals, the same life plan.
I cannot accept what I am doing to myself with food, with stress, with life in general.
Getting it back together is must happen. It has to start happening now.
Is life a constant battle for everyone? So many people I see seem to have it together. I sometimes feel I am a single step away from the abyss. Stepping back from that fall is the hardest thing to do when the Black Dog seems to be standing behind me baring teeth and growling.
Cycling, and time with friends, has been my escape from The Black Dog. This weekend I didn’t fight hard enough. I let the Black Dog win.
I have to find a way to fight harder. Or maybe I just need to be smarter than The Black Dog…