This is a kinda' sorta' companion piece to my previous post about weight's effects on self-image. One of my oldest friends, let's call him Mike because that's his name, has recently started on the Crossfit bandwagon. For those uninitiated, like myself, the regime seems like pure militaristic torture; the pull-ups alone would rip my arms off faster than a Wookie ever could. But his enthusiasm got me thinking about addiction theory - that we tend to switch one vice for another and how that can be a good thing for our self-image.
During college, we tend to live high on the hog. By that I mean we're high and eating like pigs. You're invincible, you're gonna live forever, everyone will know your name.... wait, that's Carmen... In any case, you're burning the candles at both ends - going to class or work on no sleep is a non-issue, drinking warm Bud Light in the hot sun is totally acceptable, gorging on Taco Bell or Pizza Hut Meatlover's Pizza at 1am is a weekly thing, you have a regrettable random, and you learn quickly that there are no boundaries between roommates (which is good practice for cohabitation - STOP TALKING TO ME FROM THE BATHROOM!)
Anywaaaayyy... So, yeah, you're basically a hooligan. A disgusting, eating too much, drinking too much, smoking too much hooligan with nary a care in the world except graduating and getting a decent job. Unfortunately, much like the aforementioned Carmen, you learn all too soon the wicked and boring ways of the world. Now, throwing up in the trashcan at work is only acceptable if you're pregnant or have a violent flu. Sleep is not optional. Bills need to get paid. Water is the preferred drink of choice in the hot sun. Your vacation is more like a relaxing week at the beach instead of going un-showered for days at a festival concert. And your genes start to kick in.
You begin to wonder if that "stress headache" you've had for a month is actually something more, so like a responsible sober adult, you go to the doctor and discover your blood pressure's so high that your head is dangerously close to imploding. Your knee is cracking and swollen all the time but you haven't played football in ten years. You've become acutely aware of gastrointestinal distress as it happens once a week yet you haven't been to Taco Burrito King in four months. And your doctor starts to seem really interested in your family history, nodding along as you list every ailment you can remember off the top of your head.
And to put the icing on the proverbial cake, you've gotten fat. Maybe not "DA-YUM" big, but you're definitely not as fit as you once were. First, you deny. Then you blame the booze. And next, it's your job's fault. Excuse after excuse until one day, you just admit defeat. Your lack of diet and exercise combined with your genetic heritage has won. "For now...." you say to your gut in a voice that promises it may have won the battle, but not the war.
It's at this stage that I've found people shedding their old addictions in favor of a new one - the "Healthy Lifestyle." It's not a bad thing (except for some special people, but that's another post down the road). A friend in college, Tim, lived up to the standard of his Irish fore-bearers up until he realized that a fat chick like me had better stamina at concerts. He vowed to run a marathon and finish. Over the following year, he became obsessed with running - running shoes, running websites, running nutrition. He also lost 40lbs and most of his hair, but he finished that god-forsaken marathon. And damn, I was proud of him. He'd changed his whole self-image, going from a slightly husky, beer-swilling guy in traditional slacker dress who fell asleep at work to figuring out that he was capable of more than just dreaming about a better life. Running became religion and making me grilled salmon replaced taking me out for pizza and beer.
Another friend of mine, T-dog as we call her, became a yoga fanatic and she's happier than she's ever been. Yoga and macrobiotic vegan food became the mantra for another girl I've known since I was born. Mike has gone from being a little chunky and happy that he hasn't passed out on the treadmill to feeling pride while doing crazy kettlebell exercises and pull-ups with a body fat of 13%. On occasion, even I have been known to be slightly obsessed with my routine, and like the folks I've mentioned, it mostly comes down to being competitive with yourself - can you bike/run one more mile than the day before? Can you manage 5 more minutes on the elliptical than yesterday? Is swimming a whole mile within your reach?
In the end, when you're competitive with yourself, when you're trying to be a better version of you, the numbers on the scale don't matter. If you need a new belt because the old one just can't be tightened anymore, then fantastic - but all you really want is to be stronger than you were yesterday.
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