I am overweight, I live in the city, and every day I am reminded of this. Whether it be the fashionably dressed yuppies in sizes I would maybe fit into if I sawed my body in half, or the winded headrush I sometimes get walking up the stairs from the subway, there are reminders; little signs that should gently push me to the gym. But, it gets pretty easy to block out the city noise. I don’t hear the cars anymore, and I don’t see the beggars looking for spare change. It is sometimes easy to ignore the signs that I need to make a change in my life. It’s easier to shut down the noise.
And then sometimes you get a message from the universe. Or sometimes from the unsolicited homeless.
Last night, while walking up the escalator from the train, a seemingly drunk and unwashed homeless man called me a “fatso.” It didn’t register until after I walked by that he was talking to me, which is probably a good thing, because the headlines would have read, “Fatso pushes homeless man down escalator,” and that isn’t good for anyone’s job search. After realizing what had happened, I walked down the street to join Susan in creating this week’s Eat Fit, Not Fat (stay tuned, it’s going to be a good one), and laughed as I told her my tale of woe and street-rat bullying. My feelings were not hurt, as I do not necessarily value the opinion of the urine-soaked, but it was one of those signs. It was something I could either laugh about and hide behind, or I could use it -- turn it into fuel, if just for one day.
I swam this morning before work. I moved my alarm clock across my bedroom, knowing that if the alarm blared for hours, my roommates would murder me. Getting up and staring around my room, with my escalator friend’s voice in my head, I made the choice to put on my classy Speedo and spend the morning waking up in the water. It felt great, and I’m proud of myself. Finding motivation is a constant struggle for me, but I can rule today as a victory already, and its not even 9am.