So it's true. I hate greek yogurt. Why would I bother centering my blog title around something so pointless? Because to me, it is both the holy grail and the Fear-Factor-Cockroach of my life. I've been on this "journey" to improving my health for like four years, despite it steadily declining during that time frame. And Greek yogurt represents this entire mind-set to me. I flip through magazines hoping that I might absorb the glowing genes into my body by osmosis and among other things (salmon, Vitamin D) it feels like Greek Yogurt is all they can talk about. It embodies what I've been too lazy to try to achieve. I am my own worst enemy, sure, but Greek Yogurt, at least for the moment is my scape-goat. I'll buy a tub, take a spoonful, and just as quickly toss that disgusting $5 container down the trash. Me trying to be healthy feels fake and so does trying to enjoy this sour cream poser. You can sugar-coat it with honey or fruit all you want, but admit it, you will never look forward to that gelatinous tarty flavor.
And just like this entry, I've procrastinated getting to the point. So, let me paint a picture for you: My fire alarm just went off and I'm not wearing any pants. I'm still 50 lbs above my goal weight, and have no ab muscle to speak of. In fact, my 'core' is so underdeveloped I pulled my back out moving a child and was out of work for 5 months. I just worked almost 50 hours in 4 days doing a thankless and generally depressing job and all I want to do is eat a huge burrito in my bed reading books about vampires and telling the love of my life I'm too tired for sex. That sentence is both incredibly long and incredibly true, but it is clear that losing weight isn't my only priority. Getting my life together has got to be some aspect of it.
Which brings us to where I am now. At the lowest end of the totem pole when it comes to a "healthy, balanced, 'together' lifestyle. Something needs to change, but quite frankly I've found more satisfaction complaining about it for years then actually making any effort. In fact, I am the worst kind of friend. I'm so boring that I'm bored with myself; the only thing I talk about is how I live my life in extremes: I'm overweight and underslept; I hate greek yogurt but I love lasagna, tacos, etc. I abhor cardio but I adore buying 3 trench coats in different colors at Target. I don't even want to go out to dinner with me: I waver from extreme joy to overwhelming hopelessness as I steadily shovel the food in my mouth. I probably look like a mime on crack during meals.
So here I am, pretending like this Slim Fast bar really does taste like cookie dough and reminiscing about how time really does fly when you start checking the age box 25-34. It feels like yesterday that I made my 4th New Year's Resolution to lose weight, or meditate every day, or "get out in nature" for five minutes twice a week. Where do I even come up with these minimums and guidelines? One thing is clear: I've ignored every goal and risked my own health, disregarding my body in the throes of immediate chocolatey satisfaction. And I've dearly paid for it. I keep thinking this is it, this year is my year. But it never is, and the only person responsible is me. And Chobani, of course.
So, hang on friends. I've created a new outlet in which to complain, and retain a small glimmer of hope that writing about the woes of having a quarter-life crisis might just drive me to make some changes. It is December, after-all, which means that my 5th New Years Resolution of "Getting Healthier" is right around the corner. Something feels right about this moment. About learning to love myself again. Maybe I've reached that limit of complaining. Or a third health scare in September was the final straw. Whatever it is, I need to seize it. This could be the moment, my moment.
And by seizing, I mean, my Goal of the Day is to get out of my pajamas.