Going Through the Big “D” and Don’t Mean Dallas
This is not going to be nearly as good as my cousin Cari’s testimony.
I started dating the monkey in October of 1990. That was one of my bad decisions made in the Fall. We were married in December 1993. I was 22 and WAY too young to be getting married. Seriously, what was I thinking? I wanted to be married, I wanted to have a family. I’ve always loved the idea of marriage: growing old with someone, sitting on the front porch watching our grandchildren play. Unfortunately I skipped to the front porch part in our ’70’s and should have been thinking more about how a marriage works; and more importantly, how it would work being married to a monkey that I was completely incompatible with.
The monkey moved out for good on January 1, 2005, which happened to be one of the worst days of my life as it was the day we told the girls he wasn’t going to live there anymore. It took two more years to make it final. On the day of my divorce, the monkey asked me, begged me really, for three more months. He was already living with her, but wanted three more months to see if it would work out or not and then he’d come back to me. Or so he thought. Seriously? I don’t think so. I remember walking out of that courthouse with him and him crying that he didn’t understand why I couldn’t give him three more months. It was already over and he’d sucked the last 15 years out of my soul, I didn’t want to give him one more day.
My divorce was final in 2007–April 12, 2007 to be exact. The day after, my sister sent me a dozen giant chocolate dipped cookies. YUM! The next week I started working from home. Three months later I had gained 20 pounds and was the heaviest I’d ever been. Ugh! I realized that every time I was bored, I would go upstairs to the kitchen. Every time I needed help with something and couldn’t get ahold of anyone in the office, I went to the kitchen. I would make brownies on my break. It was out of control. My boss was afraid I would become too reclusive and be lonely, it didn’t occur to me that my problem with working at home would be weight gain. Add working at home to my depression and it could have been a lethal combination.
In 2008, I started back to school to try and get my life back on track, but my weight was still out of control. I’d gotten a small handle on it and lost that 20 pounds, but it still wasn’t good. At the beginning of 2009, I had a revelation that I was going to be going on a cruise with a LOT of walking in May, and then there was the fact that I was turning 38 in June, and there was also a 20 year reunion hanging out there somewhere. Wow, 38. So my stats were as follows: almost 38, overweight, single mom to three girls. I felt like the “WINNER” banner was flashing over my head. I started working out. Seriously working out. Eat less, move more. There really isn’t a magic solution.
About five months into 2009, my fog of depression started to lift. I actually feel better now than I have in a really, really long time. Some of it is the fact that I’ve managed to lose 45 pounds this year alone, for a total of 65 pounds from that awful time in 2007. I finished a sprint triathlon and a 10k this year at 38. I would like to run a half marathon next year, that’s 13 miles. I’m also planning on two sprint tri’s next year. It’s truly amazing how much better it feels to be moving. Just simply moving. I pray that I can remember how good I feel right now if, God forbid, I ever decide I want to stop moving.