Further Thoughts on the Book, Weightless, But This Is More Personal…

The book, Weightless: A Doctor's Guide to GLP-1 Medications, Sustainable Weight Loss, and the Health You Deserve, by Rocio Salas-Whalen, MD, has been on my mind for weeks now since I finished reading it. Weeks.

Mostly, it’s the takeaways from this book that are haunting me. Okay, maybe just the one, and here they are: G.P.S. G stands for the GLP medication you need to take, P stands for the protein you must ingest, and S is for the strength training you have to start and maintain.

Yeah. That last part.

Strength training is important to help maintain a long and healthy life. It replaces fat and weighs considerably less than fat (which is why they call it “lean muscle”). It improves your resting metabolic rate, which helps to burn more calories even at rest. It increases bone density, reducing the risk of osteoporosis and fractures. It helps regulate blood sugar levels, blood pressure, and cholesterol, reducing the risk of heart disease and type 2 diabetes. (https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/fitness/in-depth/strength-training/art-20046670). In other words, strength training is really, really good for you.

Before I get into it, it’s important to know that I live by routine. I have several in my life that I follow without thinking, even happily. Like writing, reading, the dishes, meal planning, feeding the cat, scooping out the clumps of dirty litter… You get the idea. So, you might ask, why don’t I just start and maintain an exercise routine? (Or, why haven’t I just started and maintained an exercise routine?)

It goes back a few years, back to high school. Let me first say that I am not, nor have I ever been, athletic. I was always a lanky, pudgy youngster with limited hand-eye coordination and not the strength to lift my own body weight; this did not change when I entered adulthood. Despite this, for reasons involving proving something to my father—and to myself—and equating quitting with failure, I joined the football team in my sophomore year. My high school’s athletic policy at the time was to accept all students on every sports team; there weren't any tryouts, there weren’t any cuts. Anyone could join any athletic team. So I joined.

Remember when I said that I didn’t have the strength to lift my own body weight?

I was also a dramatic kid, constantly seeking attention from teachers and peers. I was, at times, annoying to others. Combine this with my lack of athletic ability, the nonsensical decision to play a rough, demanding sport, and you have me with a large target painted on my back.

Also, consider that I was an artistic child. I was in the chorus, played several musical instruments, and enjoyed portraying people other than myself in the drama club. I already had a group of friends in this particular clique. So I should have been satisfied with my place.

Yeah, no.

Needless to say, when I was on the football team, much hazing occurred. I even went away with the players to football camp before the school year started. Now, imagine the worst, most humiliating, degrading, and cruel things that teenage boys can do to one another and multiply them by ten. Then consider all this happening 24/7. I will not go into details. There was physical and mental abuse, trauma, and I survived it all. Did said abuse and trauma shape who I am today? I’d say so.

Since then, I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with exercise. Don’t get me wrong, there were times in my life when I was successful. Then, for reasons concerning depressive episodes and other factors, I stopped.

I recently had a session with my therapist where we talked about this, my “allergy” to exercise. I told him of my past, went into much more detail about it, and discussed strategies to add this healthy and necessary routine to my life. I’m still thinking about the takeaways from that session, and I’m still not exercising. I’m in a sort of inactive limbo.

I even thought of easy and safe ways to begin strength training: rucking, it’s called. It’s when you walk briskly with added weight. I already purchased the weighted vest and hand weights, and even went on such walks a few times. But consistency is what establishes routine. And it’s consistency I need to maintain.

As it turns out, it’s not about proving anything to myself. It’s not about the feelings of imminent failure or the depressive obstacles I might encounter. It’s about starting one day, then going on to the next.

Let’s hope I can start this. And keep it up.