Fatigue Makes Fatties Of Us All
I am not good at not doing things.
Since I have never seen the merit in drugs or drinking alone, that means doing things has been my go-to addiction. You would think activity would lobby for body mass stasis: but for us in the BMI Danger Zone, anything and everything mitigates for Mass Creep: Except exercising more and eating less (or at least fewer calories.)
So when I have the week of a double Red Eye here, all day drive to 8 sites/clients there, round out by 17 meetings and a couple of thousand words to write you would think it would be easy to simply eat as needed, exercise as possible and maintain: Not True.
The stress of stress makes my mouth exercise compensate for the the times when the source of stress and its special exhaustion friend, eating, do a dance with a recumbent bike frozen in rejection to layer lard upon lard.
Oh, I know stress makes your body horde calories in fight-or-flight prep, I know that any day I do not work out is a day I can gain more weight. But my entire 3 score years and 8 months have seen me swim in stress since I was born: first inflicted by my parents, then handed off to myself in later life.
Its not the stress, stupid: its that stress simulates actual physical exhaustion: when all I have done is simply gnarled out, not worked out. Anxiety does not have a high calorie burn rate, or leave behind muscle mass that banks a fire of calories that burn in a happy glow when I am not exercising.
Stress and its fatigue is the Trojan Horse of legitimizing inactivity and eating crap in the convenient confusion of its fatigue without the legit exhaustion of actual exertion – and it bloats my bod.
Life is often just seeing the difference between what you want to matter and what actually matters. I have to get things done: its my psychological skeleton, both in the closet and out in the world – but when I simply want to ignore not exercising and eating a bit of this or that when the reality of overload must be served I lie yo myself. Again.
It takes Missional Devotion to do more than the minimum. Whether its filling a hole of pathetic need or going the right thing, running to things that must be done has been the way I breath. Unfortunately its also the way I eat like a pig.
Perspective may be in shorter supply than people you can vote for, but absent it, I get fat(ter). Its hard to have a metronome of common sense when you are dancing as fast as you can.
Meter is, for me, harder to find than melody. My sons tell me I sing too loudly, which, given my abilities compounds the impact of said abilities.
But sometimes perspective is just in the mirror.
Actually it always is, one way or another.