Four Things

There's definitely a right way and a wrong way to go off a fast. You can ease yourself back in, using the healthy tools and information you consumed when you weren't consuming anything else, or you can be glad it's over and go eat Mexican. One of these sets you up for success, the other for defeat.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that at any other time in my life, I would have fallen into the latter. I would have just been glad it was over and went back to my old ways. I would have plunged myself, head first, into a big basket of chips and queso. No question about it. But something about this phase of my life was different. Something about this fast is sticking with me.

It's actually sticking with me a little too well. The other day I ate a roasted veggie lunch, and I felt guilty. I felt guilty for chewing something, guilty for filling my belly full, guilty for consuming calories. I'm convinced that it's single moments of uncensored thought like this one that lead to anorexia. I had to quickly remind myself that God designed my body to eat. It was a strange conversation between my rational mind and the crazy girl that rents a room in my frontal lobe.

That incident aside, this process is actually working this time. I've been able to stay off sugar. I've been able to eat small portions of healthy foods. I was trying to pinpoint what the difference has been. And then I came across this:

It's nothing earth shattering. Everyone knows that eating healthy and working out are good for you. I've known it for years. But the difference between knowing and it making it your lifestyle is a vast ocean of frustration and confusion. It takes a long time and a serious amount of will power to swim across it.

It appears that my transition happened in roughly 40 days due to the inventing prowess of Jack Lalanne and the poverty of a few Uganda street kids. But in all honesty my transformation has been in the making for a couple of years. I tried several times to eat right and work out, I just never really did them at the same time because it felt overwhelming. And throughout all of it, the room next door to the crazy girl in my frontal lobe was rented by "self defeat." I looked at pictures of healthy people, but I never really believed they could be me.

Well, somewhere here recently, "self defeat" was kicked out on his rear, and I did the four things that picture talks about. I started exercising. I thought out a plan. I learned to eat right.

But the single most telling sign of whether or not you will be successful is not any of those things. Success depends on your ability to kick all things negative to the curb and believe in yourself to make it happen. It didn't happen to me overnight. It came in spurts. I began to believe I was worth more. Then I began to demand more for myself. Then I began to expect more of myself. And finally, I looked up one day and I was running that fourth mile, and I knew I could do anything.

But the crazy girl is still renting a room.

I'm okay with it. She runs faster than me.