Bi's, Tri's and Sighs

Biceps and triceps day is not my favorite.

I don't mind tricep work -- I think my tri's are actually becoming sort of strong. But my biceps are weak, weak, weak. I know that just means I need to work them more -- and I DO -- but it is not my favorite. It makes me feel weak and feeling weak makes me feel angry and feeling weak and angry inevitably leads to me questioning my motivation towards the whole thing.

So I'm doing cable bicep curls -- with an embarrassingly low weight and what must have been a nasty grimace on my face -- when a gym acquaintance touched me on the shoulder to get my attention then started a slow clap. Annoyed, and sure that he was making fun of me (believe me -- he's not using low weights on ANY move) because of the pussy weights I was lifting, I popped out one ear plug and said, "Seriously? I don't deserve clapping on bicep day. Stop it."

Ever the cheerleader, he said, "Yes you do! You're doing great!" I still felt a little bad, and then a little worse because I realized that I may have inadvertently fished for a compliment (which he cheerfully provided, but...) He continued, "You are here. On this REALLY cold day. You don't have to be, but you are. You are here and you are working on the body part you least enjoy working on and that, my friend, deserves applause."

God damn.

He was right.

I could have been in the warmth of my home, wrapped in a blanket and eating pancakes, but I wasn't.

I was there, because to be anywhere else would've felt wrong.

I think I can safely say that the workouts have become a habit. A routine. Something that is just done.

And that makes me feel kind of strong.

Do Unto Yourself As You Do Unto Others

Last night I ran into one of my daughter's friend's moms. I hadn't seen her in quite some time. She had lost weight (though she was still not what anyone would call svelte). Her hair looked pretty. She looked 10-15 years younger. She looked lovely.

I spoke to my daughter about her this morning. She said that she had been experimenting with dressing better and wearing make-up because of a new career opportunity.

I think her experiment was a success.

And then I wondered -- why can't I cut myself the same break?

Like I said -- she was thinner, but not thin.

She was considerably less frumpy, but not glamorous.

She was so happy that she glowed.

She. Looked. Great.

I qualified it above, but only for the sake of comparison.

Because I, too, am thinner but not thin. And I can't forgive myself or the powers that be for that. I gave up all of the things! I work hard! I deserve to be hot, not slightly less gross!

I would have never said or even thought those things about her. I simply thought she looked great.

I, too, have been playing with make-up and hair and it makes me feel better about myself. But I beat myself up because I'm not beautiful.

I have been told that my happiness shines through. Or did, until quite recently anyway. I hear that as "she ain't much to look at, but she's got a good heart".

Isn't that stupid?

That is not what I thought of her at all.

I thought she looked great.

No qualifiers.

Not:  She looked great for her.

Not: She looked better than she used to.

Just: She looked great.

I need to work hard on cutting myself the breaks that I instinctively cut her.

Why is that so much harder? Do we hold ourselves to higher standards than we hold the rest of the world to? Is that fair?

It's not.

I think I'm going to tell the mirror it looks great today.

I'll try not to laugh (or cry) when I do so.

It will be a step in the right direction.

Crash

It was inevitable.

I was flying pretty high.

People were feeding me compliments and I was eating them up.

I was feeding myself, too.

I saw a lot of change this week and I felt great about it.

I was caught up in how far I'd come and I forgot about how far I had to go.

I really forgot.

Every now and then I'd get a little reminder -- a little glimpse in a mirror -- but it was easily dismissed by whatever positivity was going on at the time.

All the exercise -- I think -- was releasing so many endorphins that I was able to dismiss the little glimpses of how very disgusting I still am.

I speak proudly of losing 60 pounds -- but I lose track of the fact that I have a good hundred -- ninety, anyway -- left to lose. I'm not even half way there.

I'm gross.

And worse -- I'm gross and I've been feeling and acting like I'm not.

How repulsive.

This mood will pass. It needs to.

Tom reminded me last night that it's not about the weight. It was never supposed to be about the weight.

I'm healthy -- way, way healthier than I was, anyway.

That should be enough.

That was supposed to be enough.

I'll get over it. I'll be back at the gym tomorrow, hitting it hard.

But maybe I'll have the good sense to go back to dressing like the fat chick that I am instead of the buff chick that I want to be. Maybe life would make more sense if I went back to living like her, too. Eating, drinking, knowing how the fuck to handle myself in social situations...

I feel better now -- there is no doubt. I guess I look better, but I don't look good. I remain an AWFUL lot of pounds away from looking good. An insurmountable amount. An almost unfathomable amount. It has taken me almost a year to lose 60 pounds -- and that was the beginning -- it always comes off more quickly in the beginning. I need to face facts -- I am never going to lose enough weight to look good, or normal. 

Never.

It is an unreasonable goal.

So I've given up my social life and foods and drinks (sigh) that made me happy for the chance to be slightly less disgusting.

AND to feel better physically than I have in years. I can't let this little mood dive obliterate that fact.

Worth it? 

I just don't fucking know right now.

In a few weeks, I'll take the first bike ride of the spring. That should help to clear up my priorities.

Intuitive Eating

Before the doc pronounced my carb sensitivity in a way which I was open to hear, I would have told you that I was practicing Intuitive Eating. I would not have been lying to you, not consciously at least. When I started eating low-carb, I moved thoughts of Intuitive Eating to the back of my mind. But I realized this week that I am following it more closely now than I was when I actually claimed to be following it. I have really tuned in to the needs of my body. I do pay more attention to when I'm hungry and when I'm not. It does not follow the same path every day. 

It seems like eating low-carb goes against the tenants of principle 3:

Make Peace with Food. Call a truce, stop the food fight! Give yourself unconditional permission to eat. If you tell yourself that you can't or shouldn't have a particular food, it can lead to intense feelings of deprivation that build into uncontrollable cravings and, often, bingeing When you finally “give-in” to your forbidden food, eating will be experienced with such intensity, it usually results in Last Supper overeating, and overwhelming guilt.

But in retrospect, I don't think it really does. I have indeed experienced that intense overeating -- usually at a Mexican restaurant -- I just can't resist a basket of warm chips and a bowl of fresh salsa. A bag of tortilla chips from the grocery store? Pfffft. That has no power over me. My family has chips at home all the time. Doesn't tempt me a bit. But those warm tortilla chips in a Mexican restaurant? Forget about it. They are my Kryptonite. Knowing this helps a little bit. I try to stay away from them when I can and when I can't I give myself permission to indulge without guilt. But you know what? I feel like hell when I do! Not guilt -- I don't beat myself up for being "weak" or "bad" because I am neither of those things -- I feel really physically bad. The tummy ache that you might expect after a person who generally eats moderately eats without inhibition, sure -- but more than that -- I feel sluggish and exhausted and generally gross.

Sometimes it's worth it, though...

It's a conscious decision.

I find that I just know when it's time for me to get some carbs into my system. And it's usually -- surprise, surprise -- every 7-10 days, just like the doctor ordered. Sometimes it is a little sooner than 7 days -- and I listen to that message when my body sends it. Sometimes I actually go longer than 10 days and I listen to that message as well.

Principle 5 is one I'm still working on, too:

Respect Your Fullness. Listen for the body signals that tell you that you are no longer hungry. Observe the signs that show that you're comfortably full. Pause in the middle of a meal or food and ask yourself how the food tastes, and what is your current fullness level?

Man, that one seems like it ought to be easy, doesn't it? But sometimes the food is just too delicious to stop when the belly holds up its hand and I just keep eating until it waves a white flag. Lifetime member of the Clean Plate Club. I'm working on it. I'm trying to undo 5 decades of abuse, here -- it doesn't happen overnight.

I am much more in tune than I ever have been before. My body never wanted all of those carbs -- they always made me feel sluggish and -- gross. But I didn't make the association. I just thought that was the way I was supposed to feel. That was my normal. 

The new normal is better.

My body speaks.  I listen.

Usually.

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

Y'know that part -- at the end of a relationship -- when both parties know that it's over but it's been such a long, comfortable thing that nobody knows quite how to say the words that will actually set them both free? Usually -- although not always -- one party wants out and the other just sort of feels desperate and out of control -- the writing is on the wall but they can't bring themselves to really read the words out loud. They go through the motions for a while. Make excuses to be gone more and more. Maybe do things that will make the other person initiate the break.

It's a horrible time. If you've lived to adulthood, you've undoubtedly seen it once or twice from both sides.

It's where my trainer and I are.

And I am the one feeling desperate and out of control.

I know that she is doing what she needs to do and that she needs to take care of herself. She needs to move on. There is no place for me where she is going. I am old baggage from a past life and her only remaining tie to me is guilt. I don't want to be an obligation. I want her to succeed like crazy.

But I want to succeed like crazy, too, and I'm not completely confident that I can do it without her guidance and support.

I'm still brainstorming. What am I going to do?

I guess the easy answer is that I should just find another trainer. And eventually that is probably what I will do. But oh, I so don't want to. My relationship with this one has been so satisfying. I don't want to have to take the time to convince someone new that I am not how I appear. I think if I met with someone new and they handed me a Barbie weight, I would throw it at them. And that would not be nice or fair -- it would not be their fault for treating a frumpy middle-aged woman like a frumpy middle-aged woman. No, I am not ready to train a new trainer yet.

I toyed with the idea of becoming a trainer myself -- just to be able to take things into my own hands so that I would never have to rely on anyone else again. It's an interesting plan, and I am not ready to completely dismiss it, but it is not what I really want.

I think what I really want is a serious workout partner, but I don't see that happening. So many factors would have to line up -- it would have to be someone I liked on a personal level, it would have to be someone who lived near me and had a similar schedule and belonged to the same gym. It would have to be someone with similar goals and similar enough strength that we could confidently spot each other. It is too much to hope for -- I don't think that person is out there. If they are, they're probably not looking for a frumpy middle-aged woman.

All I know with any degree of certainty is that I don't want my flailing relationship with my trainer to signal an end to my relationship with fitness. I've come too far and worked too hard. While she is still giving me a thread to hang on to, I need to figure out my next move.

Books, classes -- whatever it will take to keep me moving in a positive direction.

I love my trainer.

But I love myself more.

I will survive this -- I just need to figure out how.