Scared Straight

First, I just want to say, are they seriously paying over 3 dollars a gallon for gasoline? My god, really? 


I just drove more this past week than I have in months, back and forth to the suburbs for one reason or another and I have learned that people around here are paying upwards from 3 dollars a gallon, in the cheap areas, for gas.


Yes, sometimes there's the need for a good, reliable motor vehicle. I recognize this, but there's a thin line between responsible use and abuse. And when it gets to be that gas is costing that much, there's the question about who's abusing who.


When you're lost in the haze of an addiction, whatever it is, there isn't much anyone can say to you to get you past your perceived need. Whatever it happens to be, it has a hold on you. It has convinced you that there is no way you could function day to day without it. 


My mother, who lives almost a thousand miles away, went to the hospital earlier this week because she took some cold medicine (no, not the speedy kind) and her heart rate spiked to 170 BPM. They kept her for almost two days. I beg my mother to take better care of herself, but her dysfunctional relationships with food and exercise have been a lifelong battle. A hurdle like that is hard to get over. She gets stress fractures from every day activities. She has high blood pressure and is borderline diabetic. If I was as unhappy a person as she is, I would get panic attacks, too. 


So, I called my mother in the hospital and we spoke, and she told me that I'd better call my father, because he'd been in the hospital that (first) day too. Also, his heart.  


It's almost storybook. 


So I drove out the next day to visit him. My father, I'm convinced, has a death wish. They wanted to keep him for observation, but he left because he has a dog to feed. I used to beg him to take care of himself, but he has proven over and over that he's just not willing to try. A couple simple changes in his lifestyle and so much could turn right around. 


But he doesn't. And he won't take the medications to make him better. And he won't make the changes that will improve the quality of his life. He just doesn't want to. 


I'm not posting this here to cry about it (that's what LiveJournal is for), but the point I'm trying to make is, this is what happens. Both of my parents are obese to the point that they would hurt themselves if they tried to exercise. That's gotta be a pretty scary corner to paint oneself into. 


I have to say here that it's been a pretty depressing few days, but it's also been inspiring. For a long time now, watching my parents deteriorate has been morbidly inspiring. Watching my mother go on one crash diet after another, watching the scale, beating herself up, making a career out of sitting on her ass, collecting diagnoses which are mainly attributed to her obesity, has been inspiring. Watching my father, sitting in his recliner, watching cable TV, eating ice cream, cookies, potato chips and stocking up on 2-liters of sugary sodas, has been inspiring. 


I really wish that they wouldn't go out that way, but I know that I won't. I want to be a spunky, energetic 50-70 year old. I want to be a spunky, energetic 90 year old. 


I am so grateful that I have found joy in riding a bicycle. That I have escaped the hereditary and societal addictions to cars, television and the general notion that one must eventually settle down and become sedentary. I am so proud to be a bicycle commuter. I am proud of my life that keeps me up and running. I'm more glad than frustrated that sometimes I find it difficult to relax and be alone. I'm out riding my bike to work. I'm out riding my bike with people I love. I'm riding my bike, miles away, in order to meet people to go on bike rides. I'm eating more fruit and nuts and home-cooked meals than I used to over half my life ago when I was a child and my family was whole. I'm worried when I get fast-food pangs, and I'm conscious of my meat consumption. 


I don't look down my nose at them, and I don't look down my nose at anyone else who has become sedentary and have "let themselves go." I remember what was like to care about how fat I was, but never once care about how fit I was. 


I eat sugar. I eat meat. I smoke. I drink. I'm still overweight, but I am more fit and more happy today than I think I have ever have been. That might just be proof of how out of shape I was before, being that I'm not in awesome shape, but I'm on the right path. I just keep getting better. Tangibly and intangibly, I just keep getting better. 


I owe it to the people I love. I owe it to my parents, for scaring me straight. I owe it to my husband (my ex and my friend) for getting me to Chicago where the bike culture is fun and thriving. I owe it to my lovers, for getting and keeping me on a bike, and I owe it to my friends who keep inspiring me to do new things and proving to me that cycling isn't owned by the stuffed-shirt, suburbanite "weekend warriors" and the jerky hipster snobs. 


I love my life. I think I'll keep it.