Out of Idaho (not Africa)

My most chronic problem with trying to lose weight is always short-lived overexuberance. I'll push myself for about three days to a week. Then, at the end of that week, I'll be so exhausted, so bitterly reminded of all the things I can't do, that I'd rather just not worry about the whole blessed mess. And during those days, because I've pushed so hard and seen no results (on one memorable spurt, I actually gained 2 lbs and stared in wonder at the scale that was trying so adamantly to mock me), I actually manage to forget all the good parts, and focus instead on getting in touch with my inner Grumpeteer. (Which is sort of like the Mouseketeers, had they been run by Grumpy Bear instead of Mickey Mouse.) In the end, I'm cramping, I'm (sometimes) bleeding, I'm wanting chocolate and I'm emotional as hell.

It's like that time of the month all over again.

So how do I keep this new regime from being like a permanent bout of PMS? Well, first off... now that I've taken the blue pill of reality (thanks, Morpheus) I should probably wash it down with a little humility. No, I can't do everything that others can do. I can't run a marathon, or even a mile (though I'm perfectly capable of having a heart attack in the process.) But I can walk it. The mile, not the marathon. And then I can try two miles, then three. Then, maybe, after awhile, I'll be ready to start running. Just not quite yet.

I've done a lot of traveling during my college years, and am somewhat of a veteran when it comes to long spurts of travel. So I think of this process as something like being in small-town Idaho trying to get to Jakarta. You can do it, but first you have to drive to Boise, catch a plane, connect after a twelve-hour layover at LA or Seattle, and then endure a maddeningly long flight. The kind full of crying babies, bad smells, belligerent businesspeople and that girl that's getting drunk in the seat next to you because it's her twenty-first birthday (and consequently using the restroom every twenty minutes.) And even then, your flight may or may not take a just-for-kicks stop over in Hong Kong or Seoul before you ever touch down on Indonesian soil.

In short: it's long, tiring, frustrating, hard, and involves a language you probably don't speak. But if you want to do it, you just have to prepare. Break it down into those smaller legs. Give yourself and others some credit and try not to let the frustration get you down. Spice up the trip with things you enjoy. It may not actually take any less time, but it's easier to get there. So right now, I'm not headed to Indonesia. That's still a fair distance ahead of me.

I'm just trying to get out of Idaho.