I need to do more. Even if I don't do more, I need to TRY to do more. Because if things work out as Becky and I hope they will, sitting on my butt day after day while doing little more than playing computer/video games and/or watching DVDs is not going to cut it. It's as though I fill my life with trivial things just to kill time between various doctor visits. It has to stop.
To start with, I'm out of shape. Muscles that were once large and firm have become soft and flabby. Taking my insulin in the same place along my stomach has drawn fat there, as well as providing me with quite a bit of scar tissue. I may or may not be able to do much about this, but...Well, I mentioned this wedding that's coming up in September. In preparation for the wedding, I decided showing up in jeans and a tee shirt probably won't make me welcome at the reception. So I ordered some clothes online. I found a great shirt and tie set, as well as a pair of dress pants, at what I consider unbelievably low prices. I was a happy camper.
The pants are the problem. The shirt and tie are fine. But I based the size of the pants based on the jeans I've been wearing. I caved at one point and bought 36 inch waist pants because 34" jeans were hurting me. Those same 36 inch pants have been falling off my hips the last few months, to the point where I can take them off without unbuttoning/unzipping them. (Yay! Rob's losing some weight.) Using this fact, I said to Becky while ordering the pants, "Since my jeans are constantly drooping, I think I'm safe ordering pants with a 34 inch waist." Becky agreed. Upon receiving them, I tried them on...and almost gave myself a hernia trying to get them closed up. And when I added the shirt, I couldn't close them at all. So I need to exchange them, which is yet another project I need to work on.
The thing is that I don't like the whole idea of buying clothing that simply increases in size as I age. It was the trap my parents fell into, and now my Dad is having a great many difficulties for being as heavy as he is. My biological mother...? Well, I honestly don't care what problems she's having, I just know that the last time I saw a photo of her she looked like she'd been hit by a bus and survived it a lot more shapeless than ever before.
Of course, I have this little thing standing in the way of my becoming fit, and that being a body that really doesn't want to even think about the workouts I used to perform in my youth.
"Gee, Rob. What kind of workouts did you have?" I'm glad you asked, because I like to boast a bit. First of all, before I received my driver's license, I could bike 25 miles a day, and often did, simply because I wanted to. After I started driving, and I was working for my father, I would spend an entire day lifting auto parts, which aren't always light. Then I would come home and use free-weights for a half hour, working my lower body one day and my upper body the next. And at any given moment, I could do 40 push-ups. Oh, but let's break that number down. I would do 20 regular push-ups, usually with my legs elevated about three feet off the floor. Then I would do 20 "diamond" push-ups; place your hands on the floor so that your thumbs and forefingers touch, hereby forming a diamond shape...also with my feet elevated. I was so fit that a friend's girlfriend once referred to me as "a triangle on a stick." That was because I slim all the way to mid-torso, and then my chest expanded with well-developed pectoral muscles. Having naturally broad shoulders didn't hurt, either.
Until I met Becky, my dreams of ever having kids were all but crushed. It was never going to happen because I didn't have someone to make the kids with. Becky and I are looking forward to having a family that includes a few miniature versions of us. And some disabled shlub who can't hold a baby or chase after a small child makes for a poor stay-at-home dad.
Mind you, the kids aren't something we'll be having in the next year or two, so I have some time.
Or do I? Think carefully, gang. I'm 43. Becky is 25. I need to do something to start getting in shape just so I can keep up with the woman I love, don't you think? And I'm not even talking about making love, (although in my current shape, having the local ambulance corps on speed-dial might not be a bad idea). I'm talking about the desire to go on long walks while holding hands and talking about whatever comes to mind. I'm talking about vacations in which we might want to do some sight-seeing instead of hiding in a hotel room for a week. I keep thinking back to around 13 years ago, visiting Sedona, AZ and taking a "Pink Jeep Tour" through the Red Rocks. If I don't start working on at least building up some stamina, such a tour would have me requiring traction for a few weeks to realign my spine.
Physical stuff aside, I also need to engage my mind a bit more. I'm still suffering the great desire to write, but tripping and stumbling along as I try to tell a story of any kind. All of my writing lands here, and these snippets into my life are all well and good in terms of a writing exercise, but it's not really getting the imaginative stuff out of my skull.
And wouldn't it be great if I actually published a book or two, or maybe sold a screenplay and added to the family income? Why, I might even feel like I've earned my place in the universe for a wee bit longer.
I wrote several months back that Becky has caused me to stop existing and start living. Well, I've been working on it. She's part of the reason why I had back-to-back surgeries. (And while I love you, my sweet, beautiful Becky, there ain't no way I'm doing that again.) As I start to heal, and get moving on seeing a few more doctors about this and that, I need to start DOING more. The mindset is falling into place; now I just need to followup with action.
Yes, I'm handicapped. I'm disabled. I'm whatever title you want to apply that is directed at the fact that I can't hold down regular employment. Because of this, I have an "out" should there come a time when all of these things I want to do fall through. "Well, your body just can't handle whatever it was you were trying to do." It makes for a good explanation, but it does NOT excuse me from TRYING. I keep telling people, "If you try, you cannot fail. You may not succeed at your task, but you will be that much of a success in life for having made your best effort. Only by never trying can you actually fail." I would rather try and not succeed than not try at all and be a failure.
Step 1: Get on that whole physical therapy thing so I can get this leg functioning again...
Be well, all.