I'm getting ready for bed, brushing my teeth. I bend down to pick up a hair clip on the floor, and that's when I notice it. The hard, shapely muscle that is my quad. Where did this come from? Truth be told, I 've been taking it easy with the exercise this month. I can count the number of workouts I've done (aside from teaching) on one hand. But somehow my thighs are tighter and firmer than they've been in months. That means my body is burning fat for fuel instead of carbohydrates. That means the Whole30 works!
I always notice the improvements in my body a few minutes after I've stuffed my face. Usually after a binge subsided I'd look down and see that I actually had ankles instead of cankles because of all the working out and "healthy" eating I'd done during the week. Thanks to the binge I wouldn't get to enjoy them for long. Or I'd notice how my face finally seemed to thin out. Why couldn't I appreciate these things before I downed a carton of ice cream. If I was mindful of them before, I'd have probably been less likely to binge in the first place. Well tonight I just had extra spaghetti squash with a whole lot of extra homemade mayo. It wasn't a binge, but I definitely ate past the point of fullness. And just because the mayo was homemade doesn't mean it was lower calorie than Hellman's. It's creamed olive oil and egg. Delicious, but it's still not wise to eat a whole bowl of it as dip. Anway, I'm not upset about what I ate, but I am upset that I overrode my body cues and ate too much. Bad habits die hard, don't they?
I have had some crazy dreams the past two days. My dreams are always vivid, long stories full of color and action. Lately my brain's struggled to discern my dreams from reality. Since Thanksgiving I woken up screaming, crying, flailing, or trying to punch and kick someone over ten times. The week before Christmas, it happened three nights in a row. Blake makes a courageous choice to sleep by me every night.
Tuesday night, I dreamed I was a man trapped in the dungeon of a serial killer. Many details I don't remember, but it was long and terrifying. At one point the killer was on top of me, crushing my body over a table. Moist dirt tracked the lines of his palms, and with one he covered my mouth and with the other he pressed the blade of a grimy knife to my throat. I whimpered, loud enough and sad enough that Blake woke up to squeeze my knee and tell me it was ok. Blake rose to start his day, and I took a few deep breaths, fear dissipating, and fell back asleep. My dream resumed. I was hobbling down an overgrown farm road, coated in black dirt, bound at the wrists. A rusted red old- timey pickup rambled toward me and stopped. An old farmer, who acted as the law in those parts, jumped out. He knew who the killer was; he'd long been the town troublemaker. The old farmer, weaker in stature than I, guided me through shoulder high weeds toward an abandoned house. He reasoned being on the road would make it too easy for the killer to find us. Well, the killer was waiting for us in the house. The old farmer put on his authoritative voice saying, "Now see here, Junior. You're not gonna hurt this person any more. You're gonna come with me to town." How I don't know, but the old farmer managed to loosely tie the killers arms in front of his body and motioned for the two of us to follow him back to the truck. My anxiety throbbed in my veins. I begged the farmer to tie the killer up better or to knock him out. "Oh he's not that dangerous. He's just a little off in the head" was the reply. We trekked back to the truck, the killer making several swipes at me with his feet and bound hands. Each time I screamed. Each time I kicked back while taking steps away from him. Finally, I lunged toward him with all my weight and kick as hard as I could, which thrust me awake as I bounced two feet up in the air and my toes hit the ceiling fan. I decided to abandon sleep for the night after that.
Last night I had my recurring dream of a tidal wave. I've dreamt of tidal waves for at least three years now, maybe longer. The scenario is always one of three. I am on the 5th story balcony of a condo. I am sitting under an umbrella in the sand dunes, or I am surfing. The waves come on suddenly. It's never the one giant wall of water, towering like a skyscraper, but instead several waves that become larger and larger and faster and faster. There is never any way to escape them; there's always something (a building, a seawall) that blocks our passage to dry ground. However, I and the people with me never drown. In every scenario, the waves seem fun at first. I want to play in them (in real life, playing in waves whether its surfing boogie boarding or tumbling around, is one of my favorite things). Then a sense of urgency and anxiety sets in as the waves become more dangerous. Last nights dream, my sister and I were tailgating with a bunch of people on the dunes. Gracie wanted to play in the waves, but I wouldn't let her. They started rushing toward us, one after the other, until the walls of water reached our calves, our waists, and then began to crash over our heads. The urgency of saving my sister overpowered me. With each wave she rolled and sputtered. I grabbed her wrist trying to pull us close, but I woke up.
I'm sure I could find meaning in these dreams, especially the recurring waves, if I cared to revisit them, but thinking about them fills me with unease. It's funny. I've always had recurring dreams. When I was young, 6 or 7 maybe, it was always a vicious, fire breathing dragon that chased my brothers and me through a tangled kudzu castle. When I was in my teens, I'd enter a a huge public restroom with hundreds of stalls, and every single one of them was clogged filthy (you don't want me to be more descriptive on this one). I'd search and search for just one toilet that wasn't brimming with nastiness. Sometimes I'd luck up, often times I didn't. Now in my twenties, it's the waves....Hmmm....permit me to analyze a moment (even though I just said I didn't want to). I love the beach and the waves almost more than anything. I feel and home there and my soul is happy among the foam tops. But then in my dream they become a source of anxiety and fear and then become overwhelming. I've noticed I often follow this pattern with the things I love, the things I'm meant to do in my life like writing and teaching fitness classes and coaching people on health. I'm excited about them. I pursue them. Then the anxiety and fear creep in. Maybe I'm not good enough. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I'm tired, and I don't want to do this. I'll be honest, sometimes I wish that I won't have anyone show up for a class because my anxiety about teaching gets so high. But I've been teaching for over a year! I'd like to get my personal training certification and a masters in exercise science, and I'm excited by the ideas, but there's fear there too. Fear that I'll get the training and fail to turn it into something great.
Wow, I need tidal waves to remind me I'm afraid to fail. Ha.
I really want to keep writing. My mind and finger tips are begging me not to stop. It's painful to kill the flow of writing, but I'll be late for work as it is. So have a totally tubular Thursday, and let me know if your dreams are as crazy as mine!
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