Hormones. Frustration. Suckage. Whatever.
For one week out of the month everything is spot-on. I'm focused; nothing can bother me. My workouts are planned, structured and progressively more difficult each week. No problem, I enjoy it, I thrive on it. I have no cravings of sugar, no up and down hormonal battles waging inside of me, all is good. I can bake and not be tempted.
The next week my thoughts begin to waver. As I'm lifting heavy or running another yet interval at 12 MPH my brain begins to ask "why". Why are you running so hard, so fast..for what? I can tell myself to shut up and keep going. As I'm working out yet one more heavier rep and my brain is asking why I can partition off the question asking piece of my brain and continue with a smile and a chuckle to myself.
Week three and I begin to crumble inside. My weight fluctuates widely. As I sit at my desk I feel like a blow fish; I'm getting more and more bloated by the hour. Heavier heavier heavier. My feet hurt. My shoes are too tight-shoes that fit last week. As I run another interval the doubts are louder and more pronounced. You are 44. It's difficult to breathe. Who cares how fast you can run? Who cares if you finish McNaughton. This is stupid. Here we go again. The doubts. The questions. Each month it happens. Partition it off. The gym. Again? Why. Who needs strength? Who needs a muscular lean body? Why? The doubts and questions. The scale. Good grief. How can one let a scale dictate mood? So quickly I can begin to beat myself up. Don't bake. Don't fall victim to your own thrill of baking. Yes, I know it is PMS. Yes, I know this happens each month. So why give in and listen. Partition in off. Don't listen. Keep going. Stronger, faster, better.
Week four. Unravelling. Falling apart. Legs of steel become legs of lard. No speed. Bumbling through the woods, thank God for Topaz to get me out or I may be laying on the couch. Or baking a cake for only me to eat. Abs now covered with a layer of water that could be imagined to be a layer of fat. I won't speak too loudly; words are mixed up, inaccurate. Manage to speak without thinking. Hot flashes. I wrap myself into my own cocoon. Don't try to get too close. I'm an introvert. I don't want to talk. Let this be over.
One good week a month. It's better than none. I'm looking forward to week one. Imagine what I could do with four good weeks a month.