Dear Mr. Personal Trainer,

I’m coming in to see you today after six months of, mostly, sitting on my hind end. And, by mostly I mean completely. I understand that you want to know my history and goals, so here goes.

I maintained a normal weight until just after my 26th birthday. Then I got married, had a high-stress career, renovated a house, had a preemie baby and blamed every pound I gained on each of those things. I had no time and no energy.

Then I had another baby and he was um…kind of difficult…even if I had had the time and energy, I would have taken it and put it into making him better, stronger, healthier, smarter and more typical. It turns out that ten years and ten surgeries later I realize that I like him just the way he is, which is sickly, tiny and kind of quirky, but that’s a whole different letter.

How I got here is beside the point; it’s where I want to go that matters. Eight months ago my high cholesterol sent me into the waiting arms of a vegan diet. Now I have a relationship with beans that I never thought possible. Also, my cholesterol dropped 160 points in three months. Without meds. Me and beans? We kind of love each other.

I joined your gym in January and started working out with a trainer and spent hours there each week. But, then the trainer got moved to another position and I got whooping cough, then summer came and that’s my SUPER busy season at the job I love and am passionate about. I had a hard time peeling myself away from my computer screen. And, once again, as I have countless times over the last decade, I fell into a vicious cycle of excuses.

I want this bad. I want good health, a long life and I want to be strong again. I wouldn’t mind if you could throw in some quickness and good balance, but if you could just get me to a point where it’s not a nightmare to get dressed each day, that would be great.

I take Zoloft and Ambien (see aforementioned paragraphs mentioning kids) and I know the anti-anxiety meds aren’t conducive to weight loss, but they also help me sit and watch mindless TV like Wheel of Fortune without grinding my teeth and clenching every muscle in my body. If you asked me whether I wanted to go back to feeling like I was always on the verge of a panic attack or be fat, I would chose the fatness. So, we have to work around that.

I like beer. A lot. I like chocolate. A lot. I also like vegetables and feel strong enough about my health to become a vegan and stick to that completely. But, please don’t ask me to give up beer. Or chocolate. Or coffee.

I would love to run a half marathon someday, but only a half because I think a full marathon is crazy. Plus I have asthma, so I don’t even think full marathons are allowed. Just sayin’. Oh, and I’m 41. FORTY-ONE, which is to say that I feel very middle-aged and if I don’t turn this around FOR REAL this time, I won’t ever do it.

I still have a whole life to live and so many places I want to go and a zillion things I want to do, but I won’t do any of them happily unless I can fix myself and I don’t know how to do that. I want you to help me get to a point where I can stop hating myself.

So, there you go.

No pressure.

You know how you sleep for 10 hours and it is the longest you have, maybe, ever slept in your entire life and it feels amazing, and then you sleep great again the next night and think it MUST be because the window is open and your mom was right about fresh air, and she’s probably right about catching a cold if you go outside with your hair wet, but you’ll still never forgive her for slapping a ski cap on every kid who ever came over to play if it was under 40 degrees, because “they may come over without a hat on, but I’ll be damned if they’re leaving without one,” and you’re so well-rested that you spend the weekend pulling weeds, trimming trees, and washing windows, and you sleep well AGAIN, and think maybe the insomnia is FINALLY going away after 14 years, and then you wake up the third morning with concrete in your lungs and realize that the only reason you’ve been sleeping well is because you’re getting really sick?

Yeah, me too.

Me:

*wakes up, looks at clock, reads 4:00 AM*

I hope I can go back to sleep for a couple of hours. *stares at ceiling* Maybe I should just get up now and write a blog post. Or, I could work…yes, I should work, because I’ll be in Dayton for a writing workshop later this week and I’ll get behind because I’ll be off for a couple of days.

I feel so guilty that I’m missing my husband’s birthday because I’m going to be in Dayton. I wonder if it’s too late to cancel. Maybe we can celebrate his birthday tomorrow. I need to make a cake and get him a present. Oh, today is the dog’s birthday! I need to go to the store and get her some doggie ice cream. And, we need toilet paper. And, Zone bars.

But, I don’t have to do those things today. I do have to go to the post office and call two doctor’s offices and the health insurance company. Health. Sigh. I should get up and go to the gym right now. No, sleep is more important. I should sleep. Maybe I’ll lie on my side. Ouch, not on that side! Dang shoulder.

*snuggles up comfortably on other side* I’ll probably fall asleep and wake up in 20 minutes and have to pee. I should go pee now, but I’m so comfortable. Though, it’s a little warm under here. Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating. *throws blankets off* Well, I’m not comfortable anymore. I guess I’ll go pee.

*washes hands* Wow, my hands are dry. I could really use a manicure. And, a pedicure for that matter. But, we’re broke so I’ll have to do it myself. Yes, I’ll give myself a pedicure tonight. Oh, and wax my eyebrows. What am I going to wear in Dayton?

That reminds me, my daughter needs a costume for her school play next week. I love The Music Man. I can’t wait to see her singing, “Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little, cheep, cheep, cheep…”

*looks at clock, reads 5:18 AM*

“Pick a little, talk a little…” Great. Well, at least it got rid of that Barney song that another mom was singing at my daughter’s softball game last night. Oh, there’s a double-header on Saturday and I won’t be here. I need to pack a bag for my husband so he’s not stranded at the ball field with a bored nine year old. And, warm clothes and umbrellas, because it’s supposed to rain. Oh, and snacks. I can’t forget to get those Zone bars…

My husband:

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

1. You wake up to find random plates and bowls on your nightstand.

2. Your daughter takes the candy from her Christmas stocking and hides it in her room.

3. Your husband asks, “Did you eat my Skittles?” Yes, I think I did.

4. Your husband asks, “If you only ate a banana, then why is the peanut butter on the counter?”

5. The bin of recycling is full of cereal boxes that you don’t remember emptying.

6. Your waistline disappears.