Camping Solo 

Rest day today, camping tomorrow. 

I ground my coffee #thanksReunionIsland 

I cooked my cabbage, and made a slaw #thanksBerryFreshFarms (started working there today!)



I prepped some things and froze others:


I learned fire building tips from a pro, thanks Cris!

I’m going to be ight, and am looking forward to being in nature, the constant noise here is getting to me. My body wants a break from training, but mind is racing. Bringing yoga mat, hiking shoes and kayak. Trying to match mind level w body needs, slow things down.

Music is made in the silence between the notes.

Survival Mode

I wake up and first thing I do is say:

I love and accept myself

Then I proceed to do 40 pushups and my daily 15 minute abs sequence.
I eat breakfast.
I go to bed kinda hungry.  I am fear-full: a fucked up phobia of satiation.
I want to wake up hungry, at exactly 5AM.
And I’m good at it, alarmless.
Breakfast takes a long time, regardless of what I eat.
Because I’m famished. I’m in survival mode.

My body is in survival mode.
My soul wants connection, love, to work, give, change, go on dates. But it’s not possible.  I’m stuck confined in the walls I’ve imprisoned myself in.

I don’t even know how much I weigh, because I never step on a scale.  But my bones protrude, I have no bum, my arms are twigs, my nails are falling off.

I eat, until I know I can control some residual hunger.  Control, man.

I want to be in control of when I am hungry.

I am scared of being full.  Of going overboard, of deserving nourishment.

I do my workout, an escape, a numbing, it’s like a pill, solidifying the power of my dictatorship over my body.

I go about my day.  Stretch, lunch (just under-sated), snack (this is new! this is good!), dinner (under-full), ootnaboot (this is new and good!), snack (under-full).  Sleep.

And I am expecting myself to realize a job, career (run retreats and be the holistic wellness advocate of my own damn dreams), find a sexy man, go to a bar, movie, dinner, win some fucking trail races….when I have this crap behind me.  I’m exhausted, cortisol running perma-high in “flight” mode, always.  I have hypothalamic amenorrhea.  Muscles perma tired, always toeing the edge of athletic injury.

I’ve re-started my 10-min meditation practice (literally 10 mins of breath-focused awareness) and this shit’s life-saving.

I want to DO things but have no energy.  And I expect myself to do it all.

In order to jump off the rat-wheel, I have to fucking leap.

Shit, man.  The mind is a powerful ape.

IMG_0963

I tried to walk away with this big cheque…doesn’t work that way, apparently…

Herrow

First blog post, more of a blog to write to myself than anything else.  Thoughts tend to get disorganized in my mind, so here’s a way for me to try to express myself systematically, and remember things I don’t want to forget.

Currently, my life is being consumed by an athletic injury.  Being plagued by impatience and frustrated beyond words sparks a vicious cycle of anger-hoplelessness-and spiralling depression.  Frankly, I feel robbed of my identity.  Like, if you’ve ever had your house broken into, you know that feeling where you don’t feel safe in your room or whatever, and your personal space is tainted and not yours, I feel that way with myself.  I get occasional sparks of recognition, especially brought on when I’m around others who reflect me, but that one-on-one interaction of me and nature, flying freely and effortlessly (yeah that’s a sick joke) down a trail is lost.  Lost is a good word for describing my place right now. That and fuck. I say fuck a lot these days.  Dirty mouth, frustrated.

This is kinda cool, I’m digging it.  Blogs piss me off sometimes, apart from my good friend Cheryl’s at http://happyisthenewhealthy.com/ (who is really a wicked role model for anyone who wants to live a good life, yeah I’ll say that boldly and broadly-she’s rad).  But I figured this will be a good way for me to think things out and deal with my injury.  I am eagerly anticipating the healed day when I will be able to train and become a strong, self-driven and self-competitive athlete so I can realize my potential and push my body, see just how far I can go and be fucking free.

 

More to come….that’s what she said.

“Every wall is a door” – Ralph Waldo Emerson