Day One

Yesterday I had a revelation about my life: Maybe all is not as I have thought it to be.

11 years ago I started getting very sick. I was in constant pain and sometimes so tired I couldn't even move. 8 years ago I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Learning I had a disease was liberating, since it meant I wasn't crazy. Learning I had a debilitating illness that had no cures and no treatments meant I also had to learn a whole new way of living my life. And 8 years ago this meant staying in bed... a lot. 8 years ago nothing made me feel better. I took medications, I went to physical therapy, I took vitamins. Nothing helped. And so I stopped trying to take care of myself. I was too overwhelmed by just living to keep trying to heal myself. I went to college, I went to law school, I made a life for myself. But it's a limited life that I justify by explaining that I am limited. You try keeping up when sometimes the pain is so bad you can't breathe and can barely hold on to a single thought!

But over the last couple of months I have grown tired of my complacency. So I have pledged to make changes I haven't truly made because deep down I don't think I am capable of making them. I have learned not to try. 8 years ago not trying made sense. 8 years ago every time I tried I got worse. Walking too far one day could mean 2 days of crippling pain. Not enough sleep one night could mean the next 3 days in bed. What did it matter what I ate since whether it was good for me or bad for me it was painful to digest? Might as well eat what I felt like eating. Learning not to try was rather unavoidable. Yet, as I finally acknowledged to myself yesterday, maybe what I couldn't avoid 8 years ago is not right for me now. And what's more, and this is the true kicker, maybe those lessons I taught myself are keeping me sick.

Yesterday I admitted to myself the most painful possibility I could have ever admitted: That perhaps my illness has gotten better and, because I let myself get so unhealthy in the normal sense of the word, I missed it. I am massively overweight, I don't eat right, I haven't done real exercise in (you guessed it) 11 years, so who's shocked to hear that I'm always exhausted and can't keep up with other 25 year olds? Hell, can't keep up with some 50 year olds. When I was diagnosed they told me that, since I got sick so young, there was a good chance I would get better in my early 20s. At my sickest, I wasn't able to go more than 4 hours without sleeping and spent a month in bed unable to do anything. But around 21/22 I started showing dramatic improvement; more functionality, fewer days in bed at a stretch, better recovery time, sometimes I might even be able to go for a whole day without a nap. Yet I was still in constant pain, still experiencing fatigue and loss of cognitive ability, still going through the myriad of fibromyalgia symptoms. So yesterday I asked myself the tough question: Could these continuing symptoms, at least in part, be related to the fact that I have allowed myself to get so unhealthy? Could I have missed getting better? This is not to say that I don't have fibromyalgia, because I do. I know that I will have to work harder to accomplish what other people do and will experience more, and constant, pain than others. But (and isn't this a novelty?!) perhaps a debilitating illness should not be a reason not to take care of myself, but should instead be a motivator to take care of myself the best I can. 8 years ago was then... this is NOW.

So I am going to run an experiment and this blog will be my chart. I am going to start trying to take care of myself. My focus will be all about feeling better. For many years I have complained about being fat and not liking how I look but this will not be a diary of weight loss (though that may be a side-effect), it will be a diary of health and change. I am not even going to think about my weight. I am going to exercise because I want to breathe better and be stronger. People who get enough oxygen and are strong can do more. Maybe stronger arms will mean less pain, maybe they won't. But stronger arms will mean I can lift something in spite of the pain if I need to. A stronger heart and lungs will mean better endurance and better sleep. This is not about my pant size

I am going to start with moving because I long for it. I long for a body that functions like it should and can do all the things God designed it for. I want to hike to the top of a mountain and someday ride bikes with my kids. I want to be strong enough for a regular life, instead of just for a limited one. I am not going to start with eating because it is a harder struggle for me and I don't want to get discouraged at this stage when it is all so new, and yes, scary. Daring to believe your life can be something else is always scary in the exhilarating sense of the word. I will attempt to be conscious of putting nutrients in my body by consuming fruits and vegetables, but otherwise I will not limit the kinds of foods I eat. This is about addition not restriction, my life is limited enough. I am adding movement to my life. I pray I will also be adding strength and energy. I'll be praying a lot because this will not happen without God's help just like this revelation would not have come without long hours of prayer and introspection.

When you are as unhealthy as I most doctors and fitness specialists recommend you start out just by adding walking to your day. But since I moved to NYC 3 years ago I have done that, and it hasn't been enough. Now granted, in college I lived on campus and still drove my car to class since I couldn't make it all the way to class and back with a backpack on, so the fact that I now walk pretty much everywhere is a drastic improvement. But I want more. So today I jumped right into the deep end. I went to the gym! I did the stationary bike for 5 mins, did some stretching, then walked and RAN (that's right people it says ran!!!) on the treadmill for 20 mins. I did short spurts of running, just a minute at a time, but I am damn proud of it since I haven't run in year and years and years. Then I stretched out my legs, did some push-ups, stretched out my upper body and walked home. 20 minutes towards the rest of my life. Not too shabby!