Crossing Lines


The thing about drawing lines in the sand, limiting yourself, naming those things you will never do, that you’ll know it’s bad when…the thing is they’re lines in the sand. The wind blows and they get harder to see, you cross them without realizing and then you simply draw another line. I did that with drugs: I was never going to do heroin. I was really self-righteous about it too, until one day, thinking it was something else I snorted it and discovered I loved it. And just like that the line moved. It moved so far I couldn’t see it anymore.

When I went from a size 10 to a 12, I was simply not going to let myself get up to a size 14. When I was at size 14, 16 was the thing that would never happen. My 16s are tight on me. Size 18 is unthinkable. But I keep crossing lines, erasing them, stepping over them. I’m trying not to cross this line. I’m trying to take a few steps back as a matter of fact.

I joined a gym. It’s seven blocks away from me. I have to pass it on my way home from work. It was only $15 a month AND my job will reimburse me for that $15. I didn’t go, so I cancelled the membership.

I bought a FitBit and started walking, at least 10,000 steps a day. The battery died. Twice. I stopped wearing the FitBit, and without that thing on my wrist egging me on and nagging me, I put my sneakers and my feet on the shelf and went back to subways, buses, and automobiles.

I gave up bread. Okay, to be more accurate I didn’t eat bread for one week.

I gave up Half & Half in my tea. That’s pretty much all I’ve been able to stick with. Most of the time.

Lines in the sand are so easy to cross. I need a wall. A brick wall. A brick wall that’s smarter than me, that I can’t climb or find a way around. I’m a woman of extremes and when I was younger I thought of joining the army because I figured bootcamp would get me in shape. The U.S. Army would be my brick wall.

So, lines in the sand. They’re so easy to cross. You. You’re my new line. Public. Exposed. Almost naked. As truthful as I can be. This is a line I cannot help but see because everyone else can see it too. Up or down, everything I do goes on my permanent record.

10 thoughts on “Crossing Lines

  1. My dear friend….your creative response to challenge yourself is so YOU….I have no doubt you will succeed.

    1. Aw thanks Barbara. Sometimes, you just have to take it to the streets and middle-age is bringing up all kinds of things I didn’t expect. Weight. Parenting a parent. Re-evaluations. New beginnings. It’s kind of interesting….

  2. Now you have that whole idea stuck in my mind. You’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way. We should draw lines in cement not sand…

    1. I feel like there can be a reasonable middle ground between cement and sand. Mud maybe? Something semi-permanent?

  3. I like your title (Middle Aged Lazy – ah, it seems like a negative/positive idea..) and you write with openness and vulnerability that draws all of us into your struggle. Best of luck. But I kind of like drawing my ideas/intentions in the sand, because NOTHING, ever stays the same. EVER.

    1. I don’t have a lot of negative connotations with “lazy.” It’s my contention that lazy people are the most efficient, because we want to do a thing in the least amount of steps, and do it right so it doesn’t have to be done again. 😉

  4. I am so impressed with your courage and putting yourself out there! I’ll be back to cheer you on and see how you’re going 🙂 I’m in Australia so your journey is going long distance!

  5. You can do it, baby! It took me 10 sad years to get real and honest with myself. You inspire me to stay the course!! Xoxoxoxoxo

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