I so desperately want to go to the gym tonight. I want to feel my running shoes hug my feet, a layer of warm, cotton sock in between skin and sneaker.
I want to clip my headphones over my ears and press that little circle button on my iPod shuffle, waiting for Bonnie to pour out of the tiny bud speakers, then climb on the rotating rubber belt and let the music encourage me to keep moving.
I want to see my old friend, the treadmill. I miss him.
But I won't, to err on the side of safety. I won't risk fainting and causing a scene at LA Fitness.
For those just joining us,
1. I've been trying to lose weight and generally be more healthy. And
2. I've come down with a case of on-again, off-again dizziness.
The dizziness is gone 90+ percent of the time, but when it comes on it's real. It's like whoa, to quote my dear friend Samantha.
If, for example, I am lying on my stomach in bed and turn to lie on my back, all of a sudden there is motion in my head.
Many people with vertigo describe it as the room spinning. I've certainly felt a little bit of that, as if I've had a few cocktails and then laid down and suddenly, whoa, we're moving, folks.
But back to the flipping over in bed thing. When I do that, specifically, it feels like my skin moves into position first, at the normal, at-pace-with-actual-time speed, and then my insides slowly slide to catch up.
Every time I tell people that they cringe with discomfort at the idea.
Yeah. It's pretty gross.
Sometimes it feels like I'm on a boat, rocking.
And then most of the time, I'm just waiting for another spell, being cautious, being bored.
I had at least two break-down-and-cry moments this weekend, and I got some relief following each one. I was really frustrated and upset yesterday, watching everyone on Facebook livin' it up on the Fourth, and I came here to hammer out my feelings a couple of times but stopped myself because I didn't want to be that girl who put a damper on everyone's holiday high by posting a grumpy blog post in the middle of their picnics and parades.
Alex nearly begged me to join him at a pool party, but as miserable as I was on the couch, I couldn't bear the idea of surrounding myself with happy, hyper people, people who could easily jump in the pool and splash about without feeling like there were waves moving both out and inside of their person. I just knew I'd be subdued, and that no one would slow down to my level, so what was the point?
After I cried on the phone with A yesterday, though, and sat feeling life's unfairness in Panera, I came home and returned to my station on the couch, and I felt not just calm but at peace. My emotional equilibrium returned.
God is good.
This weekend I read soooooo much. I finished three books, one of which I also started this weekend.
I watched Bunheads and more Bunheads. I really love Sutton Foster. So lovable. I really like to believe she's that nice in real life.
But anyway: weight loss.
While I've loved the reading (and am wishing myself into bed with books books BOOKS!!! right now), I've so missed the working out, the working toward a goal. MY goal.
I've put on pounds (I'm not so sickly that I can't eat, so I'm not really losing anything, except occasionally some yo-yo water weight. Yo Yo BLAH.).
I'm not totally discouraged, which is a good thing, but I am eager, and my feet are not allowed to go out and stamp the rubber belt. My feet have been grounded by my bossy head, which is spinning, spinning.
You know how when something is really hurting in your life -- you're going through a break up, or have recently lost a loved one, or a friendship has ended -- and you can get through the day OK, but when you come home from work, you find yourself suddenly despairing? And you wonder where all your good, emotional, I'm-over-it progress has gone?
Maybe I feel like the world is spinning because for six months I've been spinning, and I've finally stopped moving for five seconds to actually look at all my recent activity.
In the first half of this short year, I've traveled to countless cities, five countries. I've boarded airplanes, ships, buses, trains, even a funicular. I've spent quality time with friends who I love to pieces. I've been drunk, sober. I've danced, sang, sat, ran. Shot pool, bowled, wandered Disneyland -- twice. Smooched on multiple cats and a nephew. Ate pancakes with a granny who is growing older but determined to be spry.
Now, I can actually feel the aftermath of all my recent, compacted motion, instead of just running right through it, snapping pictures and writing blog posts but not actually stopping to feel the motion come to a simmer. The whirlpool of my activity is still whirling, and it hasn't quite settled.
Except I know this dizziness is physical. I know it is. Something's not right.
I know there's nothing I can do right now except rest, try to be positive, and wait for test results and doctor's advice.
Aside from the two breakdowns this weekend, I actually mostly enjoyed my slow time.
I loved reading, so much, and while I would love to go to the gym tonight, I'm partly so happy that instead I have an excuse to go home, head straight for bed, and be half a page into my book before Max will, I know, dutifully come press himself beside me, warm with his motor running.
I'm grateful that my love for reading runs so deep, and that I have shelves spilling over with reading material.
I'm grateful that I still have a hunger for exercise, for eating right, for losing poundage.
I'm grateful that I have a friend at home who's worried about me and wants to comfort me in my sick time, one who I know I could easily convince to order a pizza with me and watch a chick flick together. One who would paint my toes even, if I asked nicely.
I'm grateful for my sweet boyfriend, who calls me Baby and offers to meet me at my doctor's appointments.
I'm grateful I didn't pass out while getting blood drawn this morning, considering I was fasting and, well, dizzy to begin with.
I'm grateful that, God willing, I WILL get back on that treadmill, with perhaps more enthusiasm than I had before my world started spinning.
I'm grateful, in a weird way, for this season of being simultaneously grounded yet spinning, to reflect on all the ways I've been spoiled this year, and in the last 31 years. So, so spoiled.
Here's hoping the spinning stops soon. But while it's here, bring on those spinning ballerinas in Bunheads. Bring on the books. Bring on the pets, who snuggle on top of me (yes, yesterday I had cat and dog atop my blanketed bod*). Bring on the caring friends. The counting of blessings. And the dreams of a treadmill reunion.
Someday. Some day soon. (Now excuse me as I hang out with Joan Didion and Sutton Foster).