In which I realize I am disappearing*

I started Operation Junkless Trunk at the end of January. My mission: to quit eating crap, to start moving and perhaps, if the shin splints cooperated, rehab and train to the point of regularly running. I did pretty well at it for quite a while: up to the point I left Capitol Ministries, I'd lost 10 pounds or so. And I could really see and feel the difference -- my clothes fit differently, better, and I sure felt better. But then I got the Cold of Doom, leaving me coughing and breathless, which set me back pretty considerably. I never really found my footing again, workout wise, in terms of consistency, but the 10 pounds stayed off.

And I have not been back to the gym since I returned to the Capitol. I keep the gym bag in my car, loaded with appropriate gear and thrashy music, and I know that if I can just start going, I will feel better for it -- but it's the getting started that I just can't seem to manage. Every time I look at the bag sitting there, full of recriminations and cardiovascular guilt, it exhausts me. So, I haven't gone.

I saw a lobbyist friend recently, one I hadn't seen in a few months. She exclaimed, "You're disappearing!" I thought she was referring to the 10 pounds and just being particularly enthusiastic about it (as good girlfriends do). But late last week, I wandered up to the Capitol's nurse's office to the scale there and jumped on, one eye closed as I adjusted the little weights.

Apparently, I've lost 25 pounds since January -- or, another 15 since I basically abandoned Operation Junkless Trunk. Further, I was at JCrew today doing a little shopping, and I fit into a size 8 dress. Yes, I know JCrew vanity sizes and an 8 there isn't really an 8, per se, but I haven't fit into a single-digit clothing size in any brand in many, many moons.

What's my secret, you ask? I am embarrassed to tell, but it's this: I am eating like a teen aged boy. Truly. I haven't cooked dinner in I don't know how long, or eaten a vegetable as a side dish. I only eat when I'm starving, because otherwise it's either too much effort or there's just not enough time. And by "eating," I mean part of a bag of Buffalo ranch Doritos, or some frozen Buffalo wings I pull out of a bag in the freezer and heat in the oven. Or a frozen pizza. Or a piece of leftover frozen pizza. It's kind of sad, really. But I keep taking multivitamins so I don't get scurvy or rickets or whatever and telling myself it's just for a season. And the weight is falling off.

So, apparently, it's Opposite Day for my metabolism, where if I abandon exercise and healthy food, it responds as it would had I embraced them. Or something. In any case, we'll see what happens when I go back to consuming food that requires both radiant heat to prepare and a fork to eat.

* Perhaps both literally and figuratively -- it's been a week since I last wrote. The reason for my blogular absence isn't complicated -- I'm basically worn out. The job is pretty much all I can do these days, and going to bed, waking up, showering and putting one foot in front of the other to get back to work in the morning to do it all over again is the exciting routine of my life. There's not a lot that's happening these days in my life that I even find interesting; the thought of spinning an anecdote when I'm in this work cycle is a bit overwhelming. I think once the staffer on paternity leave returns and some of these deadlines are behind us (June 5 is the magic day!) I'll be able to settle into something of a routine, at least for a while. I sure hope so. I miss my life outside the building.