Can We Talk?

I hit some milestones last weekend and I was pretty euphoric about it. As is almost always the case, euphoria was followed by a crash.

I like to talk about -- and especially to write about -- the euphoric parts. I need to talk about -- or at least to write about -- the crashes.

I committed a super faux pax last week and used Facebook as a forum for writing about the euphoria. It was not the proper venue. It came across like bragging. I meant to share a small triumph -- a small milestone -- a small hurdle managed -- and instead I was alienating and obnoxious.

I don't want to do that anymore.

But I need to talk.

So I'm opening this blog up again.

I will whine here.

I will pat myself on the back here.

I will be brutally honest in my journey towards fitness -- the good, the bad and the ugly.

Because I need to.

Sometimes things need to be said, even if they don't need to be heard.

So.

The euphoria.

I shopped in a straight sizes store. Old Navy. Not just jersey shirts -- which I've pretty much always been able to buy there. Jeans. Straight size jeans. First time in a very long time. So long I can't remember when the last time was. I know a lot of words, but none of them could accurately convey the way I felt when I zipped up those jeans. Without lying down. Without jumping up and down. Without Spanx. Just me and a pair of jeans from Old Navy that zipped easily.

This was a triumph, and I presented it as such.

A lot of people celebrated it, too -- the people who weren't too turned off by the obnoxiousness of it all, anyway -- and I panicked. I had presented myself as some kind of success story and I am NOT. I have lost almost 50 pounds -- and that is undeniably an accomplishment to be proud of -- but it is not a fait accompli. I still have over 100 pounds to go before anyone sane would consider me a success story. Hell, even THEN most would still think I could benefit from dropping a few more pounds. I just wanted to share my joy at my little milestone. I didn't mean to imply that I have succeeded. I have  merely begun. 

The crash.

A small triumph in the dressing room lead to a small set-back in the gym and on the scale. I could not begin to tell you why. My limited background in psychology doesn't offer an explanation, although I'm certain that there is a simple one. But I didn't want to go to the gym. When I got there, I didn't want to work. And when my trainer missed our session yesterday I cut out early and had pancakes.

What.

The.

Bloody.

Fucking.

Hell.

I haven't had pancakes in over 9 months.

They tasted good.

And I felt like shit the whole day. 

Just like my doctor told me I would if I ate carbs for breakfast.

Just like I knew I would.

And I ate them anyway.

I had to force myself to eat a healthy lunch, snack and dinner -- all I wanted to do was crash. I felt awful and I couldn't concentrate. And gassy? Oh my Lord. What an awful, yucky, and completely self-imposed and absolutely deserved day.

And my back hurt. That wasn't because of the pancakes. Carbs are bad for me, but they are not the source of ALL evil. (everyone knows THAT title belongs to the diet industry. Another post for another day.) I went to the gym anyway. Friday is normally a cardio day, so I was plugging along on the elliptical, watching the seconds tick by and pissed at the world when I decided to cut cardio short, call it a warm-up, and lift. I'd missed my session with my trainer yesterday and I was going to miss my usual Saturday session -- not a reason in the world not to.

I kept my sore back in mind as I chose my starting weights. It would have been hard not to, the pain was such that it was difficult even to breathe. Check this out -- I was doing a reclined bench press. I started out with nothing on the bar to warm up. My nose itched in the middle of a lift and I took one hand off of the bar and scratched it, continuing to pump with one arm. It was light, so this was no great feat of strength, but it cracked me up. Look, Ma...

I increased my weights slowly and got myself to a point of reasonable respect.

I was breathing easier and my back hurt less.

I moved on to weighted squats. About halfway through my second set I realized that my back didn't hurt anymore.

I felt good again.

Lifting is magic.

I can't deprive myself of it -- it is just too wonderful -- too overall great for me.

I don't -- and never will -- look like someone who enjoys lifting. 

I am 50 pounds lighter but still ridiculously overweight.

I don't get to enjoy the benefits of a beautiful muscular physique.

But I get to wear jeans from Old Navy and my back doesn't hurt.

I ate a healthy and delicious high protein breakfast this morning.

Today is already kicking yesterday's ass.

Resolution Warriors

I have never been one for New Year's Resolutions, at least not in recent years. They don't stick - they don't work - they are a joke and I don't care to be the punchline. Yet there's something about the newness of it all that DOES make one want to take inventory and make changes. The hypocrisy of this, by the way, is not lost on me.

So it is that I find myself making changes in these first few weeks of the new year that I hope will stick. So it is that I find myself making changes related to the most stereotypical of resolutions. I am de-cluttering and re-claiming the house. I am reading more and watching TV less. I am cooking - and baking - more, and even trying to keep up with the dishes those activities produce. I am doing my nails and my hair and working on a skincare regimen. I know. Am I not the living end?

And one more thing.

I am back at the gym.

It didn't start as a vile New Year's Resolution or even as a result of taking inventory and making changes. No. It started with Ninja Warrior. My girls got it into their head - after a weekend marathon of Women of Ninja Warrior - that they would like to go into training. So I took them to the gym. What sort of parent says 'no' when their generally sedentary children actually and enthusiastically request exercise?

I walked into the gym and felt at home.

Now I knew I was out of shape and that I needed to take it slow to avoid injury (and burnout). Three days in and I'm sporting a delicious burn in my abs and biceps. How did I live so long without this? I LOVE this!

You know what else I love? I love the Y. I am never the heaviest person there. I am pretty sure that there are a lot of folks there who work hard and don't lose weight. My peeps. Maybe - MAYbe - I actually have a shot at keeping health as a goal rather than weight loss this time. It's a big maybe. I don't love being big. Plus, truth be told, I have gotten on the scale every day. I have lost (if the scale is to be believed and all the daily fluctuations and all the other factors that could make this inaccurate are to be dismissed) five pounds in three days. I'd be a huge liar if I told you that wasn't encouraging. But that can't be the motivation - it can't, can't, can't. I will never stick with it if that is my motivation, and that would be a shame because I love it SO much!

And I need to stick with it.

Not that it's a resolution or anything...

Like Riding a Bike

I had to take my health evaluation for our insurance this week. It is a ridiculously sucky procedure that I dread every year, but it only takes a few minutes and we get a break just for doing it. So it's an absolutely necessary evil. Usually when anyone in any sort of authority sees my weight, they hit me with a goal of losing about 130 pounds. Good Lord. I can't lose 130 pounds. That's a whole person. That's insane. That's just too much and it's too hard. But this evaluation suggested that I try to lose 60 pounds this year. 60 pounds by this time next year. That's a goal that sounds reasonable to me. And I really am tired of lugging all of this around. 60 pounds by this time next year and they'll say, "Good job! Goal reached!" You know, right before they set another goal... but still...I'm keeping my eye on that number - not the much more difficult to attain 130.

I can't exercise (post surgery) for another 2 weeks. I can walk now, but I fatigue pretty quickly. I still might try to go to the park some afternoon this week. Take it slow. Rest on the benches if I need to. Maybe don't try for the full 4 miles right away. Baby steps, baby steps.

But there's nothing to stop me from dieting right away. Tom wants to be healthier. Liv wants to be healthier. Lea will be eating a lot of cereal and PBJ's, because she has no desire to be healthier at all. Even as I was planning the menus and shopping list for the week, I could hear her saying, "Oh, GROSS!!!" She'll have to get used to it.

I know I'm not supposed to say 'dieting'. I'm supposed to say 'lifestyle change'. I wish I could see it that way. But it feels like a diet. So far. One day in. That decadent - eat anything you want because you're already fat so what's gonna happen plus this is how you are and people need to accept that - attitude is - well hell - it's pretty liberating. I loved looking at a menu and choosing what I wanted rather than what I thought I ought to have.

So.

Day one.

We went out for lunch. I perused the menu for the healthiest item. It was good. It was even filling. But I wanted a cheeseburger with guacamole. So I didn't leave the restaurant hungry (by any means), but I left it feeling deprived. Not a very good first step. But it was surprising how easy it was to remember little things like slowing down and having a sip of water between each bite. (Ok, Diet Coke, but I'm making no apologies for that. I only have it when we're out and I knew I wasn't getting out for another week. That's a legitimate thing, in my book. That's my logic and I'm sticking with it.)

After lunch and a couple errands, I made a menu and a shopping list. I have an arsenal of healthy cookbooks. The panic in Lea's eyes when I pulled them out as a group during menu planning was palpable. I tried to choose things that were high taste. I took two meals from the Fast Food Fix cookbook, which is a godsend. She MIGHT eat those two, anyway. But I made sure there was PB and cereal.

I looked at my grocery list with SO MANY items on it and thought, shit, I'm gonna go way over my weekly budget on this stuff that I'm just gonna hear complaints about every day and that is gonna suck big. But you know what? I was just a smidge over budget. Not bad at all.

When the bag boy helped me load my groceries into my trunk, he said I looked like a great cook. First impulse? "What the hell does THAT mean? Girl packs a couple extra (people's worth of) pounds on and you make assumptions?" Thank goodness I didn't say that, because he was referring to the sheer volume of fresh produce. He asked what I was making with a few of the items I had and said it sounded really good. I wish he was gonna be at my dinner table, because I doubt my family will share his enthsiasm. Tom might. He'll try, anyway. He knows it's good for us. And he's been trying harder than I have to make good choices for the past couple weeks.

I know how to do this.

I know aesthetics are important. A pretty presentation goes a long way towards making one feel less deprived. Drink that water from crystal rather than a tumbler and it's a treat to look forward to. Take the extra step to make the plate look pretty. Garnish.

I know all of this.

I can do this.

It's like riding a bike.

Which is another thing I'll try to do in a couple weeks.

Breakfast time. Good bye pancakes with real maple syrup. Hello oatmeal.

Sigh.

Ritual de lo Habitual? Hope So

Hubs and I did a neighborhood walk this morning. I think perhaps something on the news lately has him worried about heart attacks at 50...

I hope we can make it habitual.

I love walking with him!

How cool is that?

We both were tired and a little sore. From a little neighborhood walk.

How lame is that?

heat and humidity and bugs - oh my!

I've been walking every day since we've been in Florida. And it's hot as blazes. Here's hoping it's a habit that will follow me home...

Water You Gonna Do About It?

Well, I talked myself out of a diet and I'm glad. It's not something I want to do to myself again. The effects of yo-yo dieting have already taken a terrible toll, and I don't want to make things worse. You always think things couldn't possibly get any worse right before they do.

What I DID do was go to the Y. Yay. I swam laps. When I couldn't swim anymore, I held onto the side and did some conditioning. Then I swam some more. To keep things symmetrical and all. Then I had a little soak in the hot tub. Because I reckoned I'd earned it.

I was almost too exhausted to drive home.

My muscles hurt; my knees do not.

Awesome.

I need a new bathing suit...

Good Grief

So I decided enough is enough.

Things need to change.

I don't want to accept myself anymore as I am - I reject myself as I am.

I am going to start eating better and exercising more. This is silly.

I'm going to Weight Watchers tomorrow (I think).

It's time.

I went to the grocery store and bought some good healthy food.

A baby step in the right direction.

And I am starving.

I haven't even changed any habits yet and I already feel so deprived, physically and emotionally.

Maybe I don't need WW or a gym or a trainer - maybe I need a shrink.

Because that is wrong and it sucks.