Environment, Part I:

I mentioned in my last post that I am not natively a gym-goer; well, I'm not natively a tidy-er, either.  Given no additional stimulus, an increasing level of clutter and then outright mess will accumulate in my surroundings. 

It used to be (and by "used to be" I mean "when I was a teenager") so bad that my parents would come into my room, stand over me, and order me, piece by piece, to pick things up and either throw them away or throw them out.

It's not like that any more.  I won't lie, I'm still not a natively tidy person, but I think my surroundings look more "harried person with not enough time to clean" and less "going to be a hoarder in ten years" at this point.  (Actually, now that I think about it critically, my surroundings look a lot like my parents' surroundings did during my formative years.  I know that there's substantial evidence that eating habits are formed by watching the eating habits of the parent; anybody know about cleaning habits?)

Here's the part that sucks, though:  I need to be a tidy person.

Two reasons for this.  One, I spend way too much time looking for things.  Seriously, it's just embarrassing.  Two, I'm so much happier when I'm in a clean environment.  It's like there's this pile of bricks on my chest all the time which just unloads when my surroundings are clean.

And I don't even know how much the clutter is hurting me until it's gone!  If you ask me what the single biggest source of stress in my life is, I'll probably cite my job, or the fact that I have gotten not nearly enough done on my novel, or (come September) school, but in fact, my medium-grade level of organization (it's not a lack of organization; lack implies that there's none, and that's not the case) is probably in the top three greatest sources of stress, if not the greatest. 

Look at the visual aids again; which one makes you happier?  Now imagine you're living with each one for a year; which one would drive you bonkers? 

There was a time in my life when I actually lived like the first picture.  Like, all the time.  And it's not all that long ago.  And, when I'm stressed, or tired, or in a hurry, things slide a little more in that direction again. 

The problem is that, just like not exercising because I've had a bad day, or going for the chocolate because I've had a bad day, not cleaning up after myself (because I've had a bad day) is only going to make the problem worse.

What puzzles (and frustrates) me is that I've known this for years, and I still can't do what needs to be done on a consistent basis.  Seriously, what is my problem? 

Anaconda

You know that scene in the movies?  It's the one where the redshirts are trucking through the swamp, and there's movement under the water, so of course they turn around and stare, and now the water is still, because they're looking at it.  This may or may not repeat itself once, or even more times, but still our clueless redshirts are wandering through the swamp, somehow able to convince themselves that they're not about to be eaten by a giant snake.

And then, of course, the orchestral score starts going "Eee!  Eee!  Eee!  Eee! (doomdumdoomdumdoomdumdoomdum)" as a giant freakin' snake jumps out of the water and, naturally enough, eats them.  Whole.  Because that's what snakes do.

That's my life right now.

Right now, we're just hearing the movements from the water, because, well, I'm just starting the yoga thing, and I'm just starting this blog, and they're still being overtime nazis at work, so my hours are down, and I'm signed up to start volunteering at a hospital nearby (so excited about this eeee!), but that doesn't start until August, and of course it's summer, so school is out (I'm going to the local university for Dietetics/pre-med).  But.  Also in August, I have a leadership conference for my religion, I have to start at least looking at the texts for Organic Chemistry and Food Science, and I'm betting by then the overtime nazi thing will have gone away at work because we'll be hemorrhaging waitstaff as they all go back to their respective universities...

...all of which means I'm about to be eaten by a giant freakin' snake.  Either that, or I am the snake, and I sort of like that interpretation better.

I already know how hard I'm going to have to work to make that interpretation happen, though.  When the world is ready to turn into an anaconda on me, experience tells me that I can be the anaconda, but that there are a lot of steps I have to do to make that metamorphosis.  The biggest one is the cleaning... more on that in my next post.  But also, the yoga is actually an anaconda thing:  if I don't exercise, I'm not going to have the energy.  And there's a financial aspect, too; more control over my work hours helps a lot with the going to school thing, but that means I need to be financially stable enough to trade out my shifts.

Still, I know I can do it.

I just have to work my tail off.

Choose your potion...

So, I used to belong to a gym.

I should say, I'm not natively a gym-goer.  I did not grow up with parents who went to the gym; I was active as a small child, but once I discovered the wonderful, magical world of "reading", that went away fast.  So I don't generally go to a gym on my own, or of my own initiative:  I have to have a buddy and/or an executive order to get me on a treadmill.

But!  I did have a buddy; for a while, anyway.  There were three of us, and we went to this gym together for almost a year.  I also got into yoga, which I did once a week, and that was by far my favorite part of the whole gym.  There's just no way to describe how wonderful I felt after a round of "Hey, look at all these nifty things we can do with our bodies!"

The rest of the gym-going experience was not my cup of tea.  It was boring, and hard work, and, to my mind, unpleasant.  But, despite the unpleasantness, it was awesome.  I had so much energy.  I lost thirty pounds.  I felt great.

Unfortunately, that buddy-system collapsed, because one of us was no longer able to attend that particular gym, but instead one twenty miles away, and then I wasn't able to go during their time-slot, and soon none of us was actually going to the gym much at all.  I even stopped going to my yoga classes, which was a shame, because I had felt so good afterward.  

So now I've got a lot less energy (a lot less; I was wondering what was wrong with me, and then when I realized why, I was... chagrined), and I feel guilty instead of great, and I'm not as strong...  And I've gained twenty of my thirty pounds back.  And what's more, I've been feeling like a hypocrite (I was a hypocrite, and I hate hypocrisy) because here I was, a dietetics student who was obese, and I didn't belong to a gym.  I couldn't even stand the thought of going back to the gym, and every time someone would suggest it, I would flat-out refuse.

This had gone on for more than a year.

And then, last Tuesday, one of my former gym-buddies suggested we go to a yoga class together again.  The yoga, you will remember, was my favorite part; the only part that I looked forward to, and attended on my own on a regular basis.  I'd have turned him down for a workout, but the yoga I could do.

So we did.

And I had an epiphany! 



 Why have I been fretting over the idea of going to a gym?  Why?  Where is it written in the Holy Book of Exercise that all exercise must be performed in a gym?

There are yoga studios all over this city.  None of them are cheap (they all run about a hundred bucks a month, plus or minus ten, and that's with the most cost-efficient package), and some of them are a bit more, er...  esoteric?  Atmospheric?  "Now focus the mystic energy through your aura"-ish?  ...than I was looking for.  But some of them are of that old "Hey, look at all the nifty things we can do with our bodies!" school that was so attractive to me, and I joined one of those.

And it's awesome!  I have so much energy!  I feel great!  My muscles are sore; it's the pain of growth!  Show me a mountain; I will climb it!

(Or, no, I won't climb it, but I'll feel like I can.)

So here's what I've taken away from this.  You know that saying, "Choose your poison", or sometimes "Pick your poison"?  Well, choose your potent potable:  You can go to a gym, sure.  You can trying Spinning.  You can try swimming.  You can try Pilates.  You can be one of those people who takes like eight dogs on a leashes and runs them through the park every day.  Pick one.

I made a mistake by trying to force myself to do something that I really didn't like doing.  There were alternatives available; alternatives I loved, in fact.

Learn from my mistake:  choose something you enjoy.  I have a friend who hates ellipticals, but enjoys swimming; let her swim.  I have another (straight male) friend who enjoys Zumba; let him Zum.  My gym buddy?  He can't run, due to surgery in his leg, but he's a nut for the treadmill.  He has an entire desk set up on his treadmill, computer, notepad, everything; he walks five miles a day.  Let him tread.

And don't stop exercising (or don't not-start exercising) just because your paradigm is bad.

Every enterprise must have a beginning...

There are a lot of different kinds of health:

Physical health, obviously; nutrition, exercise and activity health, dental health, bone health, reproductive health.  Mental health, which can mean living a fulfilling and satisfying life, but which can also mean taking your anti-psychotic medications.  Spiritual health, which is a great deal more nebulous and less well-formed than physical health, and which some will argue doesn't mean anything, although some will argue that it means everything.

Good health.  Poor health.  Failing health.

Nobody has perfect health; certainly not me.  And so I hope that stories, information, even jokes relating to the quest for improved health (of all varieties) will inspire others in their own quests.

Hence, this blog.