It's In The Jeans
Even in dreams, running in jeans doesn’t work very well.
The last dream I had before I woke up this morning involved me running a race. From what I remember of the dream, I was watching Wac run a race when she encouraged me to run it as well. The race weaved in and out and around a series of hills that looked like fairways on a golf course, only it was all compacted into the size of a city block. I hadn’t run in weeks, but I decided to jump in anyways. I started off pretty quickly, doing a lot better than I started, but by the second loop, I remembered that I was running in jeans, and dropped back down to my “dream pace”. Dream pace is that run you do in dreams where you’re trying to run but it feels like you’re running in pudding with anchors for feet. It happens to me all the time, especially when I’m trying to run away from something. They never catch up to me though; I always wake up before they do.
This morning nothing was chasing me, but as soon as I got the molasses feet, I woke up and immediately thought one thing:
“I HAVE to go running today”
......
I made the decision last night that I was going to run today, so that’s probably where my dream was spawned. Furthermore, the part about running in jeans probably came about because I made the decision to run today because of my jeans.
An hour before I went to bed, I weighed myself with my jeans on. Normally, I weigh myself without my jeans, so whatever my weight was doesn’t mean much in comparison to what I usually weigh, but my weight with jeans still hammered home a sobering point.
I’m gaining weight.
......
When I was in Arizona two weekends, family and friends both commented that I appeared to have lost weight. The last time they saw me was less than four months prior, when I was in the best shape I had been in years, ready to take on my first half-marathon. That weekend was the least I had weighed in probably 7 or 8 years.
The length of time between my two visits to AZ must have deceived them, because I, in fact, had not lost weight. I had gained weight, about three pounds since January. I wasn’t worried about the gain though, my weight usually fluctuates about 2-3 lbs on a regular basis. Of course, that’s also my regular fluctuation if I’m not eating in Arizona .
I splurged on my first night back home, taking down a chimichanga and way too much chips with salsa. I justified this by making sure I ordered veggies instead of rice with my dish, but whatever I saved in carbohydrates by omitting the rice I canceled out with several pints at Casey Moore’s. I told myself this was OK though since it was going to be my only splurge of the weekend.
Apparently, my definition of “splurge” has changed. The next day I had two burgers at In N Out. Since I don’t get to go to In N Out very often, I’ll usually get two burgers but forego the fries so that I can stay within my allotted carbs for the meal. I didn’t get fries, but Wac did, and I couldn’t help myself. Later that night, we arrived at my parent’s house. Dinner was her infamous taco salad. My serving size was probably just the right amount of carbs. The problem was, so were the second and third servings.
The following day was my sister’s wedding. The good little diabetic angel on my shoulder encouraged me to skip out on cake and make sure I had water available since the only other options were iced tea and fruit punch. I listened, but I also listened to the bad little non-diabetic devil on my other shoulder, who talked me into not one, not two, but somewhere between 7-8 servings from the 6-foot Walmart sub throughout the evening.
Sunday was a little bit better, but not by much. Leftover taco salad for breakfast, followed by a snack on the road of some Mini Sirloin Burgers from JITB. Lunch at the Grand Canyon was two more leftover sub sandwiches and an apple, followed by an ice cream cone a couple hours later (although that was justified since it was crazy hot out and we had been hiking for almost two hours). Dinner was a salad & pizza.
Our last day was a gutbomb of a breakfast: bacon, sausage, hash browns and biscuits & gravy, enough to push lunch back a couple of hours. When lunch finally came, I indulged once again with a couple of tacos AND rice from some hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint. We were hungry once again halfway though our flight home, so in the Salt Lake City airport, with only minutes between flights, we grabbed a sandwich at the Wolfgang Puck stand. We flipped the sandwich over and looked at the label:
700-something calories
20-something grams of fat
60-something grams of carbs
Yet, for some reason, it wasn’t until I got out of AZ that I asked the one question I should have been asking all weekend:
“Maybe we should split this?”
.....
Two thirty-five.
That number stared me in face with that look your parents give you just before they say “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” which always hurts so much worse.
Two thirty-five with jeans, but still. My jeans are not five pounds.
I crossed into the 220’s many months ago and thought I’d never look back to the 230’s. I also thought I’d stick to running after I completed my half marathon. I also thought I was finally making progress with my diet as a diabetic. I was wrong on all accounts.
Two thirty-five is the result of many things: A weekend derailment off the healthy living train, a return to a lazier lifestyle, jeans, and other things. But, with the exception of the jeans, there’s an underlying factor that ties all the other reasons together.
I’m not being serious about my diabetes.
......
The evil diabetes struck again in my family, this time it’s my brother. It’s already gotten my dad, one of my sisters, and me. Four out of six members of my immediate family are diabetic. Sadly, that’s a lot closer to becoming status quo for our country than you might think.
My brother was understandably bummed about his diagnosis, and we talked for about a half-hour about all sorts of things diabetic. How it feels, how to cope, what to eat, how to exercise, who to talk to, etc. I admitted that I haven’t been doing everything I should be doing as a diabetic, but I’ve been doing a lot better than I was before I was diagnosed. I told him that it was important to see the little ways that you’re making progress because it’s not something that’s going to change overnight. It’s easy to get bummed out when you’re not seeing the bigger picture.
The two thirty-five on the scale last night was a reminder that practicing what I preach isn’t enough. It’s one thing to focus on the progression, no matter how small it is. It’s another thing to get comfortable with the little progress you make, to the point that it stops being progression and falls back into regression. Consciously I was thinking that I was doing certain things right while steadily working to improve. Subconsciously, I was resting on the laurels of my small successes too much to the point that I was chipping away at the progress I was making. I’m still living healthier than I was pre-diagnosis, but these days, that’s more an indictment of just how unhealthy I was than it is a confirmation of how healthy I am now.
It’s easy to forget about being diabetic because, although I do feel healthier, I don’t feel like I have a disease. I don’t have any pain, I don’t feel like I’m sick, but the reality is I have a disease that is one of the leading causes of death in America . It’s a nasty disease that can lead to consequences like amputation of limbs or blindness if gone untreated. I’m nowhere near needing to be concerned about that, but at the same time, the fact that I’m diabetic makes it a possibility, and if someone were to ask me if I’m doing everything in my power to prevent that, I would be dishonest if I answered “yes.”
.....
I just got a call from a friend, inviting Wac and I out to go see Star Trek at Cinerama tonight. As gay as it sounds, the first thing I thought of was “but then I’d miss the finale of The Biggest Loser.” It’s pathetic, I know.
What’s even more pathetic is that it took me another moment to realize that going to the movie would also make running tonight even more difficult.
So, tonight, no Star Trek. I’ll find time to see that when I can. I’ve digressed from healthy living for far too long, and as a young diabetic, there’s no excuse for that. It’s that same mentality that helped put me in this position to begin with. Instead, I’m going running tonight.
Even if means I have to run in jeans.
The last dream I had before I woke up this morning involved me running a race. From what I remember of the dream, I was watching Wac run a race when she encouraged me to run it as well. The race weaved in and out and around a series of hills that looked like fairways on a golf course, only it was all compacted into the size of a city block. I hadn’t run in weeks, but I decided to jump in anyways. I started off pretty quickly, doing a lot better than I started, but by the second loop, I remembered that I was running in jeans, and dropped back down to my “dream pace”. Dream pace is that run you do in dreams where you’re trying to run but it feels like you’re running in pudding with anchors for feet. It happens to me all the time, especially when I’m trying to run away from something. They never catch up to me though; I always wake up before they do.
This morning nothing was chasing me, but as soon as I got the molasses feet, I woke up and immediately thought one thing:
“I HAVE to go running today”
......
I made the decision last night that I was going to run today, so that’s probably where my dream was spawned. Furthermore, the part about running in jeans probably came about because I made the decision to run today because of my jeans.
An hour before I went to bed, I weighed myself with my jeans on. Normally, I weigh myself without my jeans, so whatever my weight was doesn’t mean much in comparison to what I usually weigh, but my weight with jeans still hammered home a sobering point.
I’m gaining weight.
......
When I was in Arizona two weekends, family and friends both commented that I appeared to have lost weight. The last time they saw me was less than four months prior, when I was in the best shape I had been in years, ready to take on my first half-marathon. That weekend was the least I had weighed in probably 7 or 8 years.
The length of time between my two visits to AZ must have deceived them, because I, in fact, had not lost weight. I had gained weight, about three pounds since January. I wasn’t worried about the gain though, my weight usually fluctuates about 2-3 lbs on a regular basis. Of course, that’s also my regular fluctuation if I’m not eating in Arizona .
I splurged on my first night back home, taking down a chimichanga and way too much chips with salsa. I justified this by making sure I ordered veggies instead of rice with my dish, but whatever I saved in carbohydrates by omitting the rice I canceled out with several pints at Casey Moore’s. I told myself this was OK though since it was going to be my only splurge of the weekend.
Apparently, my definition of “splurge” has changed. The next day I had two burgers at In N Out. Since I don’t get to go to In N Out very often, I’ll usually get two burgers but forego the fries so that I can stay within my allotted carbs for the meal. I didn’t get fries, but Wac did, and I couldn’t help myself. Later that night, we arrived at my parent’s house. Dinner was her infamous taco salad. My serving size was probably just the right amount of carbs. The problem was, so were the second and third servings.
The following day was my sister’s wedding. The good little diabetic angel on my shoulder encouraged me to skip out on cake and make sure I had water available since the only other options were iced tea and fruit punch. I listened, but I also listened to the bad little non-diabetic devil on my other shoulder, who talked me into not one, not two, but somewhere between 7-8 servings from the 6-foot Walmart sub throughout the evening.
Sunday was a little bit better, but not by much. Leftover taco salad for breakfast, followed by a snack on the road of some Mini Sirloin Burgers from JITB. Lunch at the Grand Canyon was two more leftover sub sandwiches and an apple, followed by an ice cream cone a couple hours later (although that was justified since it was crazy hot out and we had been hiking for almost two hours). Dinner was a salad & pizza.
Our last day was a gutbomb of a breakfast: bacon, sausage, hash browns and biscuits & gravy, enough to push lunch back a couple of hours. When lunch finally came, I indulged once again with a couple of tacos AND rice from some hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint. We were hungry once again halfway though our flight home, so in the Salt Lake City airport, with only minutes between flights, we grabbed a sandwich at the Wolfgang Puck stand. We flipped the sandwich over and looked at the label:
700-something calories
20-something grams of fat
60-something grams of carbs
Yet, for some reason, it wasn’t until I got out of AZ that I asked the one question I should have been asking all weekend:
“Maybe we should split this?”
.....
Two thirty-five.
That number stared me in face with that look your parents give you just before they say “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” which always hurts so much worse.
Two thirty-five with jeans, but still. My jeans are not five pounds.
I crossed into the 220’s many months ago and thought I’d never look back to the 230’s. I also thought I’d stick to running after I completed my half marathon. I also thought I was finally making progress with my diet as a diabetic. I was wrong on all accounts.
Two thirty-five is the result of many things: A weekend derailment off the healthy living train, a return to a lazier lifestyle, jeans, and other things. But, with the exception of the jeans, there’s an underlying factor that ties all the other reasons together.
I’m not being serious about my diabetes.
......
The evil diabetes struck again in my family, this time it’s my brother. It’s already gotten my dad, one of my sisters, and me. Four out of six members of my immediate family are diabetic. Sadly, that’s a lot closer to becoming status quo for our country than you might think.
My brother was understandably bummed about his diagnosis, and we talked for about a half-hour about all sorts of things diabetic. How it feels, how to cope, what to eat, how to exercise, who to talk to, etc. I admitted that I haven’t been doing everything I should be doing as a diabetic, but I’ve been doing a lot better than I was before I was diagnosed. I told him that it was important to see the little ways that you’re making progress because it’s not something that’s going to change overnight. It’s easy to get bummed out when you’re not seeing the bigger picture.
The two thirty-five on the scale last night was a reminder that practicing what I preach isn’t enough. It’s one thing to focus on the progression, no matter how small it is. It’s another thing to get comfortable with the little progress you make, to the point that it stops being progression and falls back into regression. Consciously I was thinking that I was doing certain things right while steadily working to improve. Subconsciously, I was resting on the laurels of my small successes too much to the point that I was chipping away at the progress I was making. I’m still living healthier than I was pre-diagnosis, but these days, that’s more an indictment of just how unhealthy I was than it is a confirmation of how healthy I am now.
It’s easy to forget about being diabetic because, although I do feel healthier, I don’t feel like I have a disease. I don’t have any pain, I don’t feel like I’m sick, but the reality is I have a disease that is one of the leading causes of death in America . It’s a nasty disease that can lead to consequences like amputation of limbs or blindness if gone untreated. I’m nowhere near needing to be concerned about that, but at the same time, the fact that I’m diabetic makes it a possibility, and if someone were to ask me if I’m doing everything in my power to prevent that, I would be dishonest if I answered “yes.”
.....
I just got a call from a friend, inviting Wac and I out to go see Star Trek at Cinerama tonight. As gay as it sounds, the first thing I thought of was “but then I’d miss the finale of The Biggest Loser.” It’s pathetic, I know.
What’s even more pathetic is that it took me another moment to realize that going to the movie would also make running tonight even more difficult.
So, tonight, no Star Trek. I’ll find time to see that when I can. I’ve digressed from healthy living for far too long, and as a young diabetic, there’s no excuse for that. It’s that same mentality that helped put me in this position to begin with. Instead, I’m going running tonight.
Even if means I have to run in jeans.
posted by Matt at
10:44 PM
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3 Comments
