mr. cluck's

 Hey, Hurley, have we traded places today? The cursed numbers are back and threatening. They keep tick tick ticking up. That should be encouraging, right? We're going in the right direction, up, up, up as we build back a hollowed shell. Strength upon strength. But, my mind says, "stop! that's quite enough now. are you kidding, me?! What are you doing?" 
The panic has been manageable so far, but today....today, my throat is tightening. I almost cried this morning when my trainer said, post-workout, I still needed more fuel. Red alert. All the panic buttons are sounding. But he's right. My body was shaking from depletion, which I could barely believe possible.
I'm eating #allthefood. And #alltheproteinshakes. And #alltheenjoycupcakes.
At least, it feels that way to a gal whose thinking has always been counter to this.
For the record, I didn't cry. C'mon, I'm tougher than that. Well, I pretend to be anyway. 
The mental/spiritual exercise is more exhausting than the rigorous training I'm putting my body through. 
My calves cry, "eat more." My energy level says, "even more, girl." My trainer says, "now, some more." Habits are so hard to shed as I try to see the nutritional information as a positive; a force for good. Does it have enough of what I need?...instead of desperately calculating the day's calories-numbers as the enemy. 
Too much, too much, always too much.
Now, struggling to put in enough, to keep up with demand. My mind is having a hard time keeping up. But, that's a big part of taking up this physical challenge. A push to break destructive habits. Laying the anxiety down at Christ's feet; asking Him, "Take this please. Run with me though this." The putting on of nourishment to the putting off of restriction, spiritually and physically. The numbers are not my master. Not my curse. 
God, keep my focus on your grace and kill their hold on me. 
Help me run this race well....
oh, and that marathon, too. 

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