I get knocked down....

... But I get up again! You're never gonna keep me down! Thank you, Chumbawamba, for one of the best worst songs ever. (< I'm sure that'll be up for debate. Save it. That song is about as good as dog vomit on cereal).  Alright. Here I am, over a month after my last post, ready to bare my soul to you five readers about failure and quitting, the affects of drama on fitness goals, and how tough it is to stick to something you so want to accomplish because of the idea that you might actually succeed. Wait, what?

   So January sucked. It was the Monday of months. Imagine 31 Mondays in a row, and times them by a great big kick in the girl balls, and you've almost got my January pictured.
   First, I had some pretty heavy things going on in my family. To avoid using the internet as a clothesline, I'm gonna skim over it and just tell you this: I love my family. I love my sisters. When it comes to them, I would bend over backwards to help them when I feel like they're in trouble. Sometimes that's appreciated. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes I need to remind myself that haters gonna hate, to stick to my guns, but also keep myself and my wellbeing (both physically and mentally/emotionally) first. Did I do that? Not so much. I let myself become overwhelmed with the issue. I wasn't myself. It took everything in me to go to work. To be cordial. To not make Throat-Punch Thursdays an actual thing. Daily. Hourly. Minute-ly? And at home? Ha. The pups got next to no attention, and I won't even get into how dirty my house got. The Stud? Let's just say, the man is the most understanding, patient, and genuine person I've ever been so lucky to have in my life. He put up with my moodiness. He dealt with everything I threw at him. When I would cry, he would hold me. When I would want to scream, he would let me. I had a Hulk-like super power of being so quick to anger, I could give you whiplash. He just took it all, turned it around, and gave me the love and reassurance I needed. I'm lucky to have him.
   Second, my car started getting worse and worse. To those of you who don't know, I've only ever had lemons. This one was a 01 Ford Escort that had been totaled three times and pieced back together with Frankenstein parts (*Frankenstein's monster, let's get it right, folks). Something the previous owners left out of their sales pitch. But it was only $2500, and my aunt and uncle were willing to help me buy it, so I got it. It ran great for about a year, and then the problems started to pile up, as they do with older, used cars. By the end, I was avoiding the "Check Engine" light like the plague. If I didn't look at it, it wasn't there. The radiator constantly blew wide open, even after being fixed, so it never heated up like it was supposed to. This made for very chilly rides to and from work on the days that it got below freezing here in middle Tennessee. It had a slew of other problems. It shook violently when idling. It needed new tires. The transmission was slipping so bad, I was afraid to drive. And as far as first-world problems go, it had no automatic anything. Oh, and no horn. Or airbags. Did I mention that the tags expired on the 31st of January? Every single time I went looking for a new (to me) car, something would happen. The car would be sold the day I went to look at it, the person would change their minds and decide to keep it, I found out I needed a co-signer.... It was disheartening to say the least.
 

 Then there were the normal woes, all of which seemed so much worse with everything else going on. Work frustrations. Not feeling appreciated, dealing with rude customers, bending over backwards and getting nothing in return... In itself, those feelings suck. Coupled with bigger problems? SO. MUCH. WORSE. Then there's stress over bills, and money, and "Well, even if I got a car, how could I afford it?" Not a great combo, if you ask me. Which you didn't. But I'm telling you anyway, because I like to give out my opinion. Here's two pennies; enjoy them.

   So there's your backstory. In dealing with all of that, I stopped running. I stopped eating better. I stopped guzzling water. I stopped writing.  I stopped everything. I wasn't myself. I gained weight back. How easy it is to put weight on that you have sweated your ass off to lose. How frustrating! But did I care at the time? No. Because it was so much easier to care about everything else to a debilitating point. Why work out when I could wallow in self-pity? Why drink water and stay healthy when I could just get sick, thus giving myself a reason to feel even more sorry for myself? So that's what I did. It's true, what I posted before, about the water. Just like with the weight loss; it's tough to stay healthy, but as soon as you let your guard down - BAM! - you get sick. I was drinking close to 90 oz a day of water, and then just stopped. About a week of that, and my glands were the size of walnuts, and I could barely breathe.
   Then, a (slight) resolution happened with my sister. It wasn't exactly what I had hoped for, but I had to focus on the positives, and let go. I had to get back to myself. There was no sense in losing myself over someone else's problems. Someone else's mistakes. And it wasn't just about her, but others as well. I had to learn to let go. So I did. I started feeling like myself again. Some of you know, and some of you don't, but singing and music are two things that are absolutely a part of me. That entire month, I didn't sing. I barely listened to music. My daily commute consisted of me sitting in my car, quiet and fuming. When I took my life back, I sang. The first day was emotional. I drove around just to blast my music, and sing at the top of my lungs. It was cathartic. I played with my dogs. I returned the love that Jonothan had been showering me with for a month. He came to me in the kitchen one day, and told me, "I've really missed you." It was one of the most sincere things anyone has ever said to me, and he said it with so much love. I knew he was right. I empathized. I had missed me too.
 

Meet Champagne  

   After driving around for almost two weeks without updated tags on my car, I started looking again. I found a car I wanted. The minute I sat down in it, I knew it was my car. I set my intention, and released it to the universe. "This car is mine. I will own this car this weekend." And, thanks to a very dear friend for trusting me to co-sign on my loan, that's exactly what happened. It's not brand new, but that's okay. It's reliable. I don't worry. And I love driving, again. I think I drove it 100 miles the first day. What was I most excited about? The clicker. Movin' on up, y'all.
   As far as affording it goes, I haggled my ass off. I set my final, out the door, price point, and stuck to it. I didn't waver. I ended up with the payment amount that I had hoped for. That didn't stop me, however, from freaking out about another bill being added to the list. So I downsized. Cable? You're fired. Netflix? Welcome aboard. Now that's not to say that, once it's a little more feasible, I won't eventually turn the cable back on. For now though, it will have to do. Not only did the cable go, but my tax return paid off three other bills, so now I've freed up even more. I'm still essentially paying the same amount that I was before, but that's better than paying even more. I just replaced 4 bills with 2. And I'm just fine with that, and so is my wallet.

   As for the resolutions, I'm back at them. Obviously, I'm writing. So there's that. You can stop whining now. I know you were just wasting away without me here to entertain you.... Then there's the running. Okay. So.. Maybe I haven't totally gotten back to business. But it's been so FREAKING COLD! Do you run in the cold? If so, how do you deal? Like, without crying the entire time? Answers and advice are appreciated. The Stud and I have resolved to run a few times this week.... it helps that it's supposed to be in the 60's... As far as lifting goes, I have absolutely no excuse. Being lazy and sleeping are really hard to kick. A comfy bed is so much more appealing than sweating and crying and cursing my weak body. But I can promise you that will stop this week. That I'll pick back up where I left off...
   Am I very motivating? Probably not. Is it inspiring to read that I failed, and am having to start all over? Doubtful. But this is real. This is real life, and these are real life hurdles. If you want to read about someone who lost weight, and it was so easy, and just control yourself, and blah blah blah... This isn't the place for you. This is a place for people who are, ya know, human. Who fall, and have to dust themselves off, and try again. This is a place for those of us who don't always get it the first time. Or the second. Or the tenth. I'll fail again. I'll trip up, and lose my way again. But, if deep down I'm still just as motivated to succeed as I believe I am, I'll always get back up. If not to reach my goals, then to shut up that nagging voice in the back of my mind saying, "You're gonna look like a fat cow in your bridesmaid dress. A big, mooing, fat-ass cow." Hey, if it pushes you to attain your goals, I'm not gonna knock it. Who am I to judge?
 
  The worst thing about all of this is the fact that the success of all of my goals - not just the weight loss ones - scares the crap out of me. Pretty screwed up, right? Well, I'm not perfect. I know, I'm surprised too. What if I reach all my goals. What does that mean for my life? It means I can no

This sunset has nothing to do with anything... I just thought
it was pretty so I snapped it. Enjoy

longer fall back on, "But I don't have the money for that," or, "Who would even read it?" While those statements might not make sense to all of you, they make terrifying sense to me. I can no longer use what I don't have as an excuse to not push even further. For everything that I accomplish, there'll be another goal waiting beyond that one. That should be so inspiring, so motivating, but guess what? It's scary. It means, I'll have to push out of my comfort zone. It means I'll have to go for it. Whatever the "it" may be.
   Again, am I inspiring when I say I'm afraid to succeed? No. Probably not at all. But I'm real. And somewhere out there, one of you is using your life, your status quo, as a crutch. As a reason to stay put. Well, let me tell you one thing. If I have to put pen to paper, but sneakers to road, put my ass back in school, and put healthy things in my mouth... SO DO YOU.

   There you have it, folks. Now get up off your asses and go make something of yourselves. I know I will.