Move On

I’ve been really sick this week with a terrible gastro bug, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but in my boredom between bouts of vomiting, I became totally hooked on the Biggest Loser. (No need to mock me for this, my husband has already done enough of that for everyone.) Now those who know me should know that I don’t tend to watch reality TV. They also know that I am not (nor ever have been) overweight. In fact, with all the puking I’ve been doing this week, I’ve got the opposite problem – I lost most of the weight I worked so hard to gain in the last six months. So the appeal in the show is obviously not that it’s inspiring me to lose weight. I recognize that it’s a little strange for a skinny person to relate to the struggles of the overweight. But the appeal is watching how hard these people are working to change their lives for the better. They fall off treadmills and get back up, they twist ankles, break bones, throw up. And they get back up. It brought to mind all the shuffles I’ve done, the Bodypump sessions, yoga classes, and all the long runs in -24 to get my body back to health.

Blood, sweat, and tears, baby. 

These inspiring contestants often lose the equivalent of entire people (one man lost nearly the exact weight that I am now – imagine, me, hanging off your back as you go about your life. It’s crazy). They are hoping to never go back. And this got me thinking about what I never want to go back to.

First off, being sick this week has been a horrible reminder of how sick I was during chemo. I cannot wait to recover from this and get back into the gym, into the yoga studio, and onto the roads and trails. There is nothing like being sick for a year to appreciate everything that a healthy body can do for you. I feel like I just can’t get enough movement, enough deep breaths, or enough sweat to make up for all those days in a hospital bed. I’ve signed up for a half-marathon this fall and for trail races this summer. I will not be held back by the hell of 2012.

Second, as I watched the contestants say goodbye to their unhealthy, overweight selves, I thought about my old pre-cancer self. Who do I want to get back, and who do I want to leave behind?

Obviously I want my health back. I never want to be a sick person again. I never want to be in a hospital again. And I want my brain back. All the treatments, side effects, and time off from thinking have turned me into intellectual sludge. I frequently have no idea what’s going on in the world, I don’t remember things, and I struggle to focus on anything for more than thirty minutes at a time. So I would like those parts of me back.

But I don’t need the high-strung, overachiever, over-stressed part of me back. She can stay back there.

I sense that keeping her there will be as much as a struggle for me as it is for the show’s contestants to leave their overweight selves behind. She is a deeply ingrained, slightly dysfunctional and definitely neurotic, part of me and she wants me to be better, to do Big Things, to be successful. She pushes me to work too hard, and to strive for things that are Important but don’t make me happy.

I suspect that everyone has a version of him or herself that they want to leave behind. Whether or not you’ve survived a life-threatening illness, we all have a part of us we don’t want hanging around anymore. That girl who was stuck in a dead-end job. That guy who couldn’t escape an abusive boss. That child who could never stand up to the bully. That mom who could never lose the weight.

And I say if you've had a second chance, if you've shaken that person off, then never go back. Keep that door shut. Lock that person out. Put that cupcake down. We have to remember what makes us happy and keep out the demons trying to destroy that.

So move on, baby. Move on.