Weighty commitment making her a little cranky

From Gerry:  When I was offered the opportunity to participate in the Fittest Loser Challenge and write about the experience, my co-workers were quick to offer suggestions on what to name my column. “The Whiniest Loser” was by far the biggest vote-getter. As they learned more about the rigors of the contest, I think they felt sorry for me and decided to opt for the kinder, gentler “Our Fittest Loser.”

Seven weeks in, I’m thinking they should have gone with their first instinct. I’m definitely whining now. I realize over the last several weeks, I’ve complained, pouted and told long-suffering tales of the travails of exercise, all with a hint of humor. Not today.

I’m tired and cranky and everyone around me is suffering.

I really had thought through in advance what I was getting myself into. I prepared for the impact on my schedule by stepping out of some volunteer commitments. For the most part, I cleared my weekends to allow time for shopping and preparing the food required for my diet. I planned early-morning workouts so the disruption to my work schedule would be minimal. On the days I’m not training with Tony, my husband joins me at our local gym. It’s not quite a date, but at least we’re on side-by-side treadmills.

So why is it so hard?

I didn’t account for the huge physical and emotional toll a major life shift like this involves.

Every single time I’m on the treadmill, I have to fight the urge to slow down, decrease the incline, anything to make it easier. Heck, why not just quit?

At the start of every workout, I’m convinced I won’t make it to the end. Climbing the stairs, I stop every single time at the fourth floor to ruminate over what a stupid exercise it is. And would Tony even know if I keeled over? Would he care?

I was curious about his answer to that question, so I asked him. He promised he’d feel bad, but only if the autopsy results showed I’d struggled at the end to get up the next step. Now, that’s compassion. No wonder I’m cranky.

There was the morning my husband and I went out to breakfast. I ordered egg whites with spinach and mushrooms. It was the least horrible item on the “healthy choices” portion of the menu. Guess what my husband chose? Biscuits and gravy! Why not just have a heart attack right there in the restaurant! He might as well have, because I was ready to kill him. Seriously, we’re not in the South. If Paula Deen was offering up biscuits and gravy, that’s one thing. But this is the Midwest, for goodness sake. I admit I didn’t filter my words very well.

Cranky. Yep, that’s me.

Then it hit me … I’m in completely uncharted territory. I have never pushed myself so far beyond my comfort zone. If I were me, I’d have quit a long time ago. But, that’s the thing, I’m not the same me anymore.

I’m wondering if I might have lost my “give up, quit before you fail” attitude somewhere among the 24 pounds I’ve shed through the course of the challenge.

I like that idea. It makes me a little less cranky.