Sick of being sick.

“From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realize, until they no longer have it.”
—From “Top Five Regrets of the Dying,” by Bronnie Ware (fantastic article, by the way), reposted at BeyondTheOpposites.com

No, I’m not dying. Thank God. I don’t have a terminal illness. Thank you Lord. There are many people so much worse off than for me. I have only temporarily lost my health.  I shouldn’t complain.

But right now I’m sick of being sick.

I was sick with a cold/flu the entire week between Christmas and New Year’s. Like, in-bed-for-three-days sick. Our third wedding anniversary in the middle of that week was a total bust. I was much improved the first week of January, and my husband and I went out a couple of evenings for dinner and a movie or show. We took in some comedy at the local Improv. One male comedian joked about women who let themselves get fat after they get married. He complained that his wife told him, “If you really loved me, it shouldn’t matter how much weight I gain.” He replied to her, “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t get fat!” The men in the audience laughed hysterically while the women were silent. He said, “I know you women out there are pissed off at me right now for saying that, but it’s true. You know it’s true.” I cringed. I’m thankful for my husband all the time. He married me when I was at my heaviest weight.

Sunday night, I was ready to hit my eating plan full throttle for this serious next weight loss push. I prepared my intentional, healthy snacks and lunch that night, then went back to work on Monday. Several of my coworkers had been ill the week before, and some were still out sick. Ugh.

My husband and I had a fantastic workout at the gym on Monday night. Then Tuesday came, along with the all-too-familiar cruddy feeling: burning eyes, sore throat, headache, body aches.  I went to bed Tuesday night at 7:30pm, didn’t get up until 8:30am the next day and emailed-in sick.  Then went back to bed until 1pm. How many hours of sleep is that? Like 16? Sheesh.

Back to work Thursday and Friday. I ate normally, which means stuff like turkey sandwiches and shredded beef tacos. I’m feeling better, but now I have a hacking cough which, experience tells me, will last for weeks. Drives my poor husband nuts.

It’s just so frustrating. Starting is hard. Getting into the mindset is hard. Then a ginormous wrench gets thrown in.

Trying to figure out why I relapsed. My husband thinks I started too hard and fast on the food and exercise after being sick.  That along with one really bad night of sleep on Sunday apparently created the perfect storm.

And now I’ve gotten my husband sick. Eegads.

I’m trying not to fret too much about losing my flow. The amazing feeling I had throughout the fall as I dropped the weight. I want that feeling back. That focus. That commitment. That excitement. That hope. Right now I just want to feel better, which sometimes means having a chocolate chip cookie.

Doesn’t help that I’m PMS-ing, a time when my personal reality is completely altered.

My inner critic is saying, “You can’t stick with anything for long. You always quit after a few months.” Shut. Up.

Well, one hopeful sign of permanent change is that we miss the gym. We can’t wait to get back to the gym. It’ll still be there tomorrow.

I miss my health. I want it back.

Advertisements