For some reason I thought that because I had quit smoking everything else (health wise) would just fall swiftly into place. I imagined myself dining on spiced quinoa as it rained baby spinach leaves around me, while I ran like Usain on the treadmill and effortlessly lifted dumbells, only stopping to look at my sweet, muscular self in the mirror.
But no, instead I have the most persistent cold in the world and I'm carbo-loading like a fiend. Every pocket of everything I own is filled with either used tissues or chocolate wrappers or more often than not, both. I spend copious amounts of time looking at my mushy body in the mirror and purposely pushing my stomach out before grabbing a fistful of flesh with both hands and shaking it around, mouthing "eat the chocolate, fatty!" through gritted teeth at myself.
I seem to have this idea that I will do 3 sit ups and look down to see the body of my dreams and I refuse to believe that it will take hard work and perseverance (both of which I usually steer clear of). I'm finding it increasingly hard to get out of bed in the mornings with the weather getting colder and I'm beginning to loathe people with motivation in abundance. I want so badly just to siphon from their motivation tank into mine, but I know I must find my own.
I need my inspiration to become my incentive to become more than just another beige fleshy blob eating eating Nutella from the jar. I need to confront myself and let myself feel in order to nurture wellness, but it seems so much easier to ride below the waves of emotion, in a state of nonchalance.
How many times have you told yourself "I can still fit those size-too-small jeans" or "It wasn't me" or even "I am okay" when you know full well its a lie? How many times have you challenged yourself to be honest and discard the fabrications you use as cotton wool?
To cultivate and maintain a healthy well being, sometimes you just have to be barefaced and admit "I solemnly swear I am up to no good".
