Chasing Numbers

I spent the weekend counting smiles and laughs. I got to be fully present with the ones around me. I tried to be fully in recovery mode, I really did. Was it a success? No. By no means. But that is okay. It is okay.

I made a huge mistake and I looked. The number I saw was beyond embarrassing and worse than I had imagined. That was it. I didn’t want recovery. Those smiles are just memories now. Moments have passed and here I am in the present. Her voice kicks up and she starts hissing her hateful words over and over. Here I am still in horrible back pain and I am running. I hit half a mile, then a mile, then two… forever chasing the next number. Searching for the runner’s high. If I could just run another mile then I will be okay but my legs can’t go another step. Next the weighted hula-hoop whose sound goes on and on as time goes by. Ten minutes and then twenty. Forty minutes in and I can no longer take the pain. I crumbled to the floor in sheer physical and mental agony.

It is a holiday, it’s the 4th. I should be enjoying the day. Given I am completely sunburnt from the boat trip, I should still have been outside enjoying the sun. Instead, I am inside counting every calorie, every minute, every second, every step, every pound. Back to the weighted hula-hoop I go. I push my body to forty minutes and again the pain is too much to push on to an hour. If only I could go for a run. It is just too hot. I will eat nothing. I will do whatever it takes to get rid of what I have allowed myself to become.


I have spent my lunch hour at the gym. I woke up this morning and the scale went down. It is finally working. Recovery can sit on the side lines until I am smaller. I refuse to be like this. I get on that treadmill and I push myself as far as I could just outside of that runner’s high. I missed out simply because my feet couldn’t keep on the treadmill without veering left or right. I nearly fell twice. No runner’s high. Just feeling defeated. I cannot be at this weight. I refuse to be. One half an avocado on toast for breakfast and a cliff bar for something to take my morning meds with. One Orgain nutrition shake for “lunch” and an apple. That’s it. Nothing else. Nothing. I won’t stop until I am tiny. I will be tiny. I do not want recovery any more. I have a pinky promise with someone very special to me and I am terrified when she finds out I broke that promise. The guilt sucks so much. I’m sorry.

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