12.10.2010
Inner Monologues
Today I'm thinking about inner monologue -- the conversations we have with ourselves to fuel our actions and often, to justify and excuse our inaction. It's been on my mind for a little while now after a few conversations and observations throughout my week. However, today the thoughts weigh more heavily because of what was mentioned in a friend's blog.
Amanda's blog was on bridalplasty -- the reality competition to get plastic surgery for a wedding - and the ideas that spring from that. One such idea was the opposition that declares the value of who a person is and not what they look like. Sounds golden, right?
Maybe not. I happen to be from the camp that thinks that content and appearance are not mutually exclusive. Who says that you can't be a good person and an attractive person? Who says you can't be a real piece of work who is unattractive to boot? I'll tell you who, no one.
If I didn't think it would embarrass them to no end, I'd list people I know personally who are drop dead gorgeous, who have healthy bodies and who have hearts of gold. Seriously. Why shouldn't you shoot for external improvement?
Most people are smart enough to know that their inner battle with physical responsibility is externally obvious. They are growing wider, their skin may be dulling, their activity slowing. Let's face it, sexual interest or even sexual identity may be waning. In my own personal history ALL of this was true. At 35, I was settling down into the identity of a teacher and mother in a world ruled by anonymous servitude.
You can see it my pictures -- or lack thereof -- in the times I said that things were "for the kids" (in my home or class) not for me. In the way I approached everything as though my life was purely that of a supporting cast member, here to make everyone else's dreams come true. I didn't want to be the focus, because then, I'd be the focus. I didn't want anyone to look because then they might really see. Make sense?
What I'm saying is that I didn't want to be examined, to be judged because I knew, deep inside, what they'd find. I wasn't old enough to quit -- no one is until they leave this earth -- I had no real excuse for dropping out of life and running to the arms of my food and sofa.
I think that others are similar in some ways, and that it boils down to inner monologue - the conversation we have within ourselves. I think it goes a little something like this:
I know I am living an unhealthy lifestyle. I overeat, or use food for friendship, comfort, reward, escape, you name it. I am not active and am scared of what would happen if I tried. What if I looked ridiculous? What if I hurt myself?
I thought these words, that's how I know folks think it. I'd been scared of sitting on certain chairs, my son's platform bed, etc. for years for fear that they would break beneath me. I was TERRIFIED for months that something would happen to me at the gym, I'd pass out, and people would have to carry me -- anywhere.
And that is what is common to the internal monologue of so many overweight people: Fear. From the root to the toot, there is fear all up in that thing. And what happens when we are afraid? That's right: Psych 101, fight or flight.
I think the temptation is clearly present to opt for flight: come up with a million distractions and justifications. As a matter of fact, for years I allowed people to tell me I wasn't that heavy, that I was fine. I heard it from my friends and from my husband and I tried like heck to make it stick. But you know what, no one can challenge the truth of obesity. No one can take away the fact that I was afraid of what my body couldn't do and where I was headed if I didn't stop. And still, I danced around the reality for years.
My old favorite mantra: Looks aren't everything. I was pretty once, now I'm a good person, a faithful wife, and a loving mother.
Does everyone feel this way? No. Of course not. But I'd be willing to bet some do. My thought is that you can fight just as easily as you can fly. Lying to myself, finding creative ways to eat off the radar, buying more and more clothes in ever increasing sizes was just as hard as losing 40lbs. Seriously. You just have to change the inner monologue.
My new favorite mantra: Looks aren't everything, but feelings are. People matter, relationships matter, starting with me and my relationship with myself.
My new internal monologue:
I don't want my sons to think that they have to choose between a faithful wife and loving mother to their children and a someone they are sexually attracted to. My husband is a good man and he deserves to have someone who is both good to be with and fun to look at. Most importantly, I want to be here and to be strong so that I can share in my family's life, rather than simply supporting it.
So the ultimate truth is: it all comes down to the thoughts you replay in your mind. These thoughts will guide your actions, become your character and shape your destiny.
Until next,
Amanda's blog was on bridalplasty -- the reality competition to get plastic surgery for a wedding - and the ideas that spring from that. One such idea was the opposition that declares the value of who a person is and not what they look like. Sounds golden, right?
Maybe not. I happen to be from the camp that thinks that content and appearance are not mutually exclusive. Who says that you can't be a good person and an attractive person? Who says you can't be a real piece of work who is unattractive to boot? I'll tell you who, no one.
If I didn't think it would embarrass them to no end, I'd list people I know personally who are drop dead gorgeous, who have healthy bodies and who have hearts of gold. Seriously. Why shouldn't you shoot for external improvement?
Most people are smart enough to know that their inner battle with physical responsibility is externally obvious. They are growing wider, their skin may be dulling, their activity slowing. Let's face it, sexual interest or even sexual identity may be waning. In my own personal history ALL of this was true. At 35, I was settling down into the identity of a teacher and mother in a world ruled by anonymous servitude.
You can see it my pictures -- or lack thereof -- in the times I said that things were "for the kids" (in my home or class) not for me. In the way I approached everything as though my life was purely that of a supporting cast member, here to make everyone else's dreams come true. I didn't want to be the focus, because then, I'd be the focus. I didn't want anyone to look because then they might really see. Make sense?
What I'm saying is that I didn't want to be examined, to be judged because I knew, deep inside, what they'd find. I wasn't old enough to quit -- no one is until they leave this earth -- I had no real excuse for dropping out of life and running to the arms of my food and sofa.
I think that others are similar in some ways, and that it boils down to inner monologue - the conversation we have within ourselves. I think it goes a little something like this:
I know I am living an unhealthy lifestyle. I overeat, or use food for friendship, comfort, reward, escape, you name it. I am not active and am scared of what would happen if I tried. What if I looked ridiculous? What if I hurt myself?
I thought these words, that's how I know folks think it. I'd been scared of sitting on certain chairs, my son's platform bed, etc. for years for fear that they would break beneath me. I was TERRIFIED for months that something would happen to me at the gym, I'd pass out, and people would have to carry me -- anywhere.
And that is what is common to the internal monologue of so many overweight people: Fear. From the root to the toot, there is fear all up in that thing. And what happens when we are afraid? That's right: Psych 101, fight or flight.
I think the temptation is clearly present to opt for flight: come up with a million distractions and justifications. As a matter of fact, for years I allowed people to tell me I wasn't that heavy, that I was fine. I heard it from my friends and from my husband and I tried like heck to make it stick. But you know what, no one can challenge the truth of obesity. No one can take away the fact that I was afraid of what my body couldn't do and where I was headed if I didn't stop. And still, I danced around the reality for years.
My old favorite mantra: Looks aren't everything. I was pretty once, now I'm a good person, a faithful wife, and a loving mother.
Does everyone feel this way? No. Of course not. But I'd be willing to bet some do. My thought is that you can fight just as easily as you can fly. Lying to myself, finding creative ways to eat off the radar, buying more and more clothes in ever increasing sizes was just as hard as losing 40lbs. Seriously. You just have to change the inner monologue.
My new favorite mantra: Looks aren't everything, but feelings are. People matter, relationships matter, starting with me and my relationship with myself.
My new internal monologue:
I don't want my sons to think that they have to choose between a faithful wife and loving mother to their children and a someone they are sexually attracted to. My husband is a good man and he deserves to have someone who is both good to be with and fun to look at. Most importantly, I want to be here and to be strong so that I can share in my family's life, rather than simply supporting it.
So the ultimate truth is: it all comes down to the thoughts you replay in your mind. These thoughts will guide your actions, become your character and shape your destiny.
Until next,
12.05.2010
Lost Loves
I grew up asthmatic and allergic in the days before Zyrtec or Claritin.
Most of the time, I existed in a world of fantasy and imagination, of quiet thoughts and contemplation, against the backdrop of the world around me. Yes, I played and laughed like normal kids, but often, there was a steep price to pay. Steam treatments, inhalers and steroid-based medicines that induced terrifying nightmares and hallucinations. Not fun.
Since my parents divorced before I started elementary school, I spent summers with my father. God love him – a newly single, body building veteran with an ultra prissy, imagination-driven, somewhat delicate little girl. I can only imagine what must have been going through his head as this little person loaded into his car each holiday.
I think my dad did what most men do when in doubt about unfamiliar, female territory: he looked to his mother for help. I haven’t asked, but I suspect this is how I came to spend so much of my visits with my father in the small country Florida town my father grew up in with my maternal grandmother and three of my father’s older brothers.
My grandmother was amazing; she was beautiful and handy and read exhaustively. She could talk about everything from football to gardening to biblical theory. Like I said, amazing. My uncle Harry, a perpetual bachelor, lived with her. A mountain of a man at what seemed to be 500 plus pounds, he would talk to me in the cartoon voices of Disney characters and perform ventriloquism acts with the family pets. My uncle John lived across town; he was a ringer for Barry White: massive, long hair and deep bass voice. Uncle John replaced his dining room with what I can only describe as a stage that raised him and his myriad instruments above me by a foot or so – at the time, he may as well have been floating in the clouds. The man was literally larger than life.
When I was younger, Uncle John was married and I had cousins there I would visit, building memories in a home filled with jazz. But it was my Uncle Art who was the career family man. He and my Aunt Octovene had 3 children, one of which was a daughter almost my age, and this was where I spent much of my time.
There’s a man (I think he may be an ex-drill sergeant) who is often on television. He’s got that commercial where he’s got a guy on a therapist couch complaining and he throws a box of Kleenex at him while he suggest that they head over to mamby-pamby land. I crack up every time. Partly because I love that guy – he’s a hoot! But also because he reminds me so much of my Uncle Art.
Art was an advocate of manning up before anyone ever even coined the phrase. A career veteran, he always kept his hair high and tight, his clothes tidy, and wasn’t one for trips to “mamby-pamby” land. Of course, this is why I loved him, because he embodied the idea of being a tough guy who had the capacity for gentleness. Whatever it was you were considering – and over the years I’ve made some flat out whacky choices – he’d call you on it, period. There would always be accountability, but there was also always love. I watched this “tough guy” care for his wife through illness, watched him get down on all fours with his grandchild and nameless other tender moments. He was the equivalent of Clint Eastwood holding a fluffy kitten, inspiring trepidation and sentimentality all at once.
It was during my time with Art & his family that I ventured outside in to the country (allergy laden) air all around the town. My cousins and I got into more trouble than you can shake a stick at, and I learned to just get out there. Heck, if you get sick you do; deal with it then. Today, live – get outside and get on an ATV or walk for what turned out to be miles and spy on neighbors or run from rustles in the woods. That’s what childhood is about. That’s what life is about.
I credit much of who I am with the influences of my large and diverse family – particularly now that I’ve made so many recent life changes and been forced to identify (and champion) who I really am at the core. So many of them touched my life in ways that pushed and challenged me to be stronger, prouder, gentler, and more loving than I was the day before. This is truly one my greatest blessings.
It is probably selfishness now, more than anything that makes me weep with loss. You see, death has taken my grandmother, my Uncle John, my Uncle Harry, and yesterday, it took my Uncle Art.
A chapter of my childhood feels like it is fading softly from the pages of my personal history and it hurts like heck. So today, and every day on, I’ve decided to honor my uncle in the same way I’ve honored those before. By committing to and perpetuating the very traits that they embodied and that I so adored. I will continue to strive for strength, grace, love, creativity, laughter, and personal accountability. This is their legacy they have given to me and this is the legacy I hope to provide for the generation that follows.
My hope for you today is that you will find a way to tap into and to cherish that which is most valuable in the people you love so that regardless of what life has in store you can always claim that beauty as your own.
Until next,
11.19.2010
Purposeful Fitness
My rump has been dragging for the past couple of days. It's been one of those weeks when I've found myself laying in bed and crying while watching marathon DVRd recordings of "The Vampire Diaries." Just plain nuts.
Add to that the feeling that I've been floundering - two full days in a row when I feel I have absolutely jack to show for the preceeding 24 hours.
I am certain there are myriad reasons for my slump -- some physiological, some situational, others just par for the course of life. However, one of the key advantages of integrating fitness into your life is that you don't have to stay there forever. Exercise releases feel-good emotions that can move you from cold prickly status to warm fuzzy groovin in no time (sorry if I lost you on those highly technical terms).
Right now, I've just completed an hour of Insanity & rather than feeling insane, I feel balanced and focused. Further, I feel positive about the day like I've already kicked booty and took a few names and it is only 10 AM!!!
If you consider the difference between the last couple of days and today, there really isn't much in the way of disparity except for one itty bitty difference: purposeful fitness.
What's the difference between garden variety fitness and purposeful fitness you ask? Well, as you may well expect, it's all in the purpose.
Consider the boost you get from setting goals and attaining them. While you're at it, consider the boost you get from doing something you doubted you could accomplish. Now tack on a boost of adrenaline and endorphins. Feelin it?
Pretty gosh darn spanky, right? You might just be feeling like you want to high five everyone you meet. Maybe smiling at some random bystander for no reason. That's what purposeful fitness will do for you. If there is a reason for your workout (and not just because you feel your rump/gut/thighs need to be punished into submission) you will approach it differently; you will engage differently; you will recover and reflect differently.
Consider the idea that today, you want to accomplish a specific goal with your fitness regime. It can be anything: 5 minutes of full extension in a group exercise class, 2 extra pushups, an extra 0.4 miles of walking, one extra trip up and down the stairs, whatever. Visualize yourself accepting that goal: you might be doubtful, frightened of failure, challenged and even humbled in the process, but when you do more -- and you always will do more when you purposefully aim to do so -- you will be flooded with positivity.
Why? Because success fuels confidence; confidence fuels courage; and courage fuels positivity. By the way: the reverse is also true. Avoidance fuels failure; failure fuels fear; and fear fuels negativity.
Okay - time to go supersonic - think about the influence your positivity has on others. Think about the idea that success also builds faith -- fear's evil nemesis -- and before you know it, you will find yourself believing in all sorts of things. The inherent goodness and value of others; the hope and grace influencing your life and that of your family; the idea that anything is possible and attainable.
Imagine the vibes you'll radiate as you interact with your partner, your children, your coworkers, your friends, some random neighbor with a beard. . . Before you know it, you'll find yourself bordering on exuberance, filled with gratitude, and you will feel that you have accomplished the unimagineable. Don't believe me? Try it.
What do you have to lose except a serious case of the ho hums and maybe a few inches.
Until next,
Add to that the feeling that I've been floundering - two full days in a row when I feel I have absolutely jack to show for the preceeding 24 hours.
I am certain there are myriad reasons for my slump -- some physiological, some situational, others just par for the course of life. However, one of the key advantages of integrating fitness into your life is that you don't have to stay there forever. Exercise releases feel-good emotions that can move you from cold prickly status to warm fuzzy groovin in no time (sorry if I lost you on those highly technical terms).
Right now, I've just completed an hour of Insanity & rather than feeling insane, I feel balanced and focused. Further, I feel positive about the day like I've already kicked booty and took a few names and it is only 10 AM!!!
If you consider the difference between the last couple of days and today, there really isn't much in the way of disparity except for one itty bitty difference: purposeful fitness.
What's the difference between garden variety fitness and purposeful fitness you ask? Well, as you may well expect, it's all in the purpose.
Consider the boost you get from setting goals and attaining them. While you're at it, consider the boost you get from doing something you doubted you could accomplish. Now tack on a boost of adrenaline and endorphins. Feelin it?
Pretty gosh darn spanky, right? You might just be feeling like you want to high five everyone you meet. Maybe smiling at some random bystander for no reason. That's what purposeful fitness will do for you. If there is a reason for your workout (and not just because you feel your rump/gut/thighs need to be punished into submission) you will approach it differently; you will engage differently; you will recover and reflect differently.
Consider the idea that today, you want to accomplish a specific goal with your fitness regime. It can be anything: 5 minutes of full extension in a group exercise class, 2 extra pushups, an extra 0.4 miles of walking, one extra trip up and down the stairs, whatever. Visualize yourself accepting that goal: you might be doubtful, frightened of failure, challenged and even humbled in the process, but when you do more -- and you always will do more when you purposefully aim to do so -- you will be flooded with positivity.
Why? Because success fuels confidence; confidence fuels courage; and courage fuels positivity. By the way: the reverse is also true. Avoidance fuels failure; failure fuels fear; and fear fuels negativity.
Okay - time to go supersonic - think about the influence your positivity has on others. Think about the idea that success also builds faith -- fear's evil nemesis -- and before you know it, you will find yourself believing in all sorts of things. The inherent goodness and value of others; the hope and grace influencing your life and that of your family; the idea that anything is possible and attainable.
Imagine the vibes you'll radiate as you interact with your partner, your children, your coworkers, your friends, some random neighbor with a beard. . . Before you know it, you'll find yourself bordering on exuberance, filled with gratitude, and you will feel that you have accomplished the unimagineable. Don't believe me? Try it.
What do you have to lose except a serious case of the ho hums and maybe a few inches.
Until next,
11.05.2010
The "Before"
So, I was skimming through the Team Beach Body message boards a couple of days ago & found Victoria who is on the P90X journey. The woman is amazing, but the point that most resonated with me was that she had trouble finding an isolated "before" photo. Turns out that she used her daughter as a human shield when it came to the cameras, too.
I actually laughed out loud because this was my M.O. as well. My buddy Theresa has trouble even believing I was ever heavy. The thing is, I didn't stand in a room wearing a bathing suit to be photographed - at the time, that sounded like crazy talk! There was no way I would humiliate myself like that. Now I wish I had.
If all goes as it has, I'm about a week away from 40 lbs lost and that feels significant for me. I have only just graced the folds of the "overweight" and escaped the "obese" classification. That feels HUGE (pardon the pun). I've lost over 9 inches from my chest alone -- that doesn't even sound possible :o) -- and can now buy bras like a normal person, in a normal store that actually fit.
Each of these changes, don't have squat on the energy, confidence, joy, enthusiasm, spiritual reconnection and self-love I've rediscovered.
The one downer is that I didn't know it could be done - didn't dare to claim it with a "before" photo. I just knew that I would take it one day at a time and see what happened. I was 20 lbs into this weight loss journey before I even dared to look up and around.
So today, as I unveil my 2004 "BEFORE" photos -- me at my highest 206 -- I want to encourage you to claim it. Go somewhere, grab a camera (use a timer if you can't bear to have a witness :o) and get to clicking. Success is yours; right now.
If you don't believe it, that's okay; lucky you, I have enough faith for the both of us!
Until next,
11.04.2010
Aw Crap!
Yep, I know what you are thinking. Language! - lol
But it's only 9:20 AM and I have already reached Fooey status.
Doggone it if I didn't get stuck less than a quarter of a mile into my run short of breath and terrified I wouldn't be able to make it forward or backward. I made some pretty crumby choices yesterday that resulted in said quagmire.
First, this waiting to workout until after work business just doesn't work for me. I may have to work out twice, but I need the endorphins from my morning cardio just as much as I need caffine or my daily Shakeology. Dear Lord, I needed a butt draggin wagon yesterday for crying out loud.
Then, to support a local charity I ate at Ghengis Grill - a wonderful Mongolian stir fry place, if you know your limitations. Ah, the magic of "if." Apparently I did not know (and/or observe) mine & went for not one, not two, but three kinds of seafood. Add spices & peanut sauce and you have a perfect recipe for crappy choices - excuse the pun.
So then, I rushed my kids to church, scarfing this down as I made the 15 minute drive and by the time I was home, woah baby! I was so sick there was no way I was doing insanity -- I could barely sit up and focus on my son's long division homework.
Ya know that phrase, what's done in the dark always comes to light? Well, that was yesterday and today when I be-bopped my happy hips outside in the beautiful Texas morning air, my lungs were not having it. Seafood, peanuts, and cold air with sans inhaler, sans Zyrtec? Really? Smoke crack much?
It should be no surprise that I found myself humbled and sitting on the curb trying to breathe.
So boys and girls, today's lesson is that every choice we make, no matter how seemingly harmless or covert, will come back to us. The fuel we choose for our bodies makes a difference. Every choice is relevant - that relevance can be downplayed or managed, but it always impacts the way your body runs and reacts.
Until next,
But it's only 9:20 AM and I have already reached Fooey status.
Doggone it if I didn't get stuck less than a quarter of a mile into my run short of breath and terrified I wouldn't be able to make it forward or backward. I made some pretty crumby choices yesterday that resulted in said quagmire.
First, this waiting to workout until after work business just doesn't work for me. I may have to work out twice, but I need the endorphins from my morning cardio just as much as I need caffine or my daily Shakeology. Dear Lord, I needed a butt draggin wagon yesterday for crying out loud.
Then, to support a local charity I ate at Ghengis Grill - a wonderful Mongolian stir fry place, if you know your limitations. Ah, the magic of "if." Apparently I did not know (and/or observe) mine & went for not one, not two, but three kinds of seafood. Add spices & peanut sauce and you have a perfect recipe for crappy choices - excuse the pun.
So then, I rushed my kids to church, scarfing this down as I made the 15 minute drive and by the time I was home, woah baby! I was so sick there was no way I was doing insanity -- I could barely sit up and focus on my son's long division homework.
Ya know that phrase, what's done in the dark always comes to light? Well, that was yesterday and today when I be-bopped my happy hips outside in the beautiful Texas morning air, my lungs were not having it. Seafood, peanuts, and cold air with sans inhaler, sans Zyrtec? Really? Smoke crack much?
It should be no surprise that I found myself humbled and sitting on the curb trying to breathe.
So boys and girls, today's lesson is that every choice we make, no matter how seemingly harmless or covert, will come back to us. The fuel we choose for our bodies makes a difference. Every choice is relevant - that relevance can be downplayed or managed, but it always impacts the way your body runs and reacts.
Until next,
10.30.2010
Fun Fitness Find: Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel
Okay, so this one is straight from the "keeping it real" files.
If you are getting back into fitness, chances are that you have some area on your body that is occupying a bit more space than originally intended. If you are anything like me, this inconvenient little truth might just result in a little chafing.
Thunder thighs scrubbing?
Extra boobage rubbing the inner arm?
Bra strap screeching back and forth?
It happens to the best of us so don't feel bad. I was watching this hilarious dance show called Dance Your A$$ Off that is like an odd hybrid of Biggest Loser & Dancing with the Stars and a TV commercial for Lanacane Anti-Chafing gel came on. At first I giggled, but an ill-chosen wardrobe (boy shorts connected to an adorable tennis-style skirt) made me a believer.
I drew blood on my inner thighs at an early morning bootcamp run in said skirt and re-thought the genius of the product. About a month and a half ago, I slipped into my local Walmart and grabbed a tube. Since then, I've found that it also counteracts the scrubbing of my bodybugg on the inner arm and my braline (shoulders & chest).
The result? No more irritation & the darkening on my skin is fading. Hey, now that showing a little skin is actually a possibility, I gotta cover my bases :o)
Until Next,
10.20.2010
Avoiding Failure vs. Finding Success
Remember the value clarifying exercise I mentioned in another blog? If not, it was an activity that I did with my family therapist that had me list where I spent money, time & energy in one column and then what I truly valued in another.
Ideally, the two columns correlate, but in my case it wasn't even close. I spent money -- a LOT of money -- on things I didn't value at all. It took a recession and a major change in the way we earned and spent money to make me take a long hard look at what I'd been doing.
Tonight, I'm thinking about values, goals and choices for how and where I spend my money, time and energy. As you may know, I've recently joined Team Beach Body/Shakeology, a multi-level marketing company. I also have a long-time affiliation with Mary Kay, which is similar in structure. Specifically, I'm reflecting on my own odd sensations in the last week regarding my experience with, perception of, and future in multi-level marketing.
These types of companies can have such a bad rap, but the truth is that in many ways they make sense. Further, I happen to know a few people who have been very successful in this type of business (not my companies) including three former high school classmates -- two of which are actually millionaires. These are people I actually know and they are normal. Not predatory in the least.
MLMs come in various models, but the basic idea is becoming your own boss and setting your own financial destiny. Time & energy invested results in income and financial freedom. Sounds innocent enough. So why do I feel a little person inside cringe a little at the idea of putting the whole business "out there?"
It makes no sense; I have friends who sell everything from candles to handbags to special water to jewelry. Why on earth is it that these ideas are a bad idea? And if they are why are they so popular? Of course, there are situations where the companies actually make their money off of people with ridiculous start up costs and pipe dreams. That's part of it. A big part.
I think the other part is the fear of trying and failing. So many of us are terrified to try and fail that we just sit back and ridicule the living daylights out of any one crab that crawls for the top of the barrel. Others just want to see someone else try just to make sure the waters are safe.
My husband and I had been discussing the difference between having a goal to avoid failure versus having a goal to seek success tonight at our Wednesday date. My older son has been dealing with the fear of failure issue and it has been a common topic of discussion in our home. How do you teach someone to go for it? How do you convince them that failures are opportunities waiting to happen?
I don't know, to be honest. It's right up there with how you teach someone to be motivated, how to teach ambition, and how to convince my bulldog to stop waking me in the middle of the night to go outside (I'm here all day for crying out loud).
Of course, who am I to give advice? I look at myself -- touting the joys of an amazing product for months without earning a dime in affiliation with the company. Now that I'm officially on board, I feel awkward about saying a word. What's up with that?
I'll tell you what's up with it: it's a fear of failure. It's a fear of rejection or perhaps, of change in general.
It is 1979 and I am afraid that all the kids will make fun of me if they find out I've been living in another country. It is 1986 and I am terrified that my crush will find out I'm in advanced classes. It is 1992 and I am sneaking out of my dorm to perform poetry in middle English because my roommates will look at me like I have two heads. I am tempted by the lure of blending because don't want to be seen as different, as motivated, as trying. The raised nail gets the hammer & all that.
Of course, this is precisely the mentality that led me to a 50+ lb weight gain in the first place. It was so easy to sit and go through drive-thru's and wish. So ridiculously hard and different to run and cook healthy meals and actually do. No one else was, at least I'd managed to steer my way clear of anyone who was (convenient, yes?) And before you know it- bam! Hello 206.
I dont' want that: the excuses, the fear, the denial, the beige. I want something more even if I am terrified of reaching for it; even if I am terrified of attaining it.
I know who I am and that is not some sales psycho. I know what I want and how I want to help others, and for me that will mean walking a clean line. No obnoxious nonsense. No marketing assaults when friends are least expecting it. No over-the-top in your face machine gun posts on Facebook. Just consistently being me.
It's just so funny to me that here, less than a month from my 37th birthday. I still have to talk myself into having the courage to follow my heart and live by my own truth. Perhaps I'll go easy on my son, when I see him avoiding potential failure, possible rejection like the Plague. Afterall, this standing firm business isn't nearly as easy at it looks.
Until next,
Ideally, the two columns correlate, but in my case it wasn't even close. I spent money -- a LOT of money -- on things I didn't value at all. It took a recession and a major change in the way we earned and spent money to make me take a long hard look at what I'd been doing.
Tonight, I'm thinking about values, goals and choices for how and where I spend my money, time and energy. As you may know, I've recently joined Team Beach Body/Shakeology, a multi-level marketing company. I also have a long-time affiliation with Mary Kay, which is similar in structure. Specifically, I'm reflecting on my own odd sensations in the last week regarding my experience with, perception of, and future in multi-level marketing.
These types of companies can have such a bad rap, but the truth is that in many ways they make sense. Further, I happen to know a few people who have been very successful in this type of business (not my companies) including three former high school classmates -- two of which are actually millionaires. These are people I actually know and they are normal. Not predatory in the least.
MLMs come in various models, but the basic idea is becoming your own boss and setting your own financial destiny. Time & energy invested results in income and financial freedom. Sounds innocent enough. So why do I feel a little person inside cringe a little at the idea of putting the whole business "out there?"
It makes no sense; I have friends who sell everything from candles to handbags to special water to jewelry. Why on earth is it that these ideas are a bad idea? And if they are why are they so popular? Of course, there are situations where the companies actually make their money off of people with ridiculous start up costs and pipe dreams. That's part of it. A big part.
I think the other part is the fear of trying and failing. So many of us are terrified to try and fail that we just sit back and ridicule the living daylights out of any one crab that crawls for the top of the barrel. Others just want to see someone else try just to make sure the waters are safe.
My husband and I had been discussing the difference between having a goal to avoid failure versus having a goal to seek success tonight at our Wednesday date. My older son has been dealing with the fear of failure issue and it has been a common topic of discussion in our home. How do you teach someone to go for it? How do you convince them that failures are opportunities waiting to happen?
I don't know, to be honest. It's right up there with how you teach someone to be motivated, how to teach ambition, and how to convince my bulldog to stop waking me in the middle of the night to go outside (I'm here all day for crying out loud).
Of course, who am I to give advice? I look at myself -- touting the joys of an amazing product for months without earning a dime in affiliation with the company. Now that I'm officially on board, I feel awkward about saying a word. What's up with that?
I'll tell you what's up with it: it's a fear of failure. It's a fear of rejection or perhaps, of change in general.
It is 1979 and I am afraid that all the kids will make fun of me if they find out I've been living in another country. It is 1986 and I am terrified that my crush will find out I'm in advanced classes. It is 1992 and I am sneaking out of my dorm to perform poetry in middle English because my roommates will look at me like I have two heads. I am tempted by the lure of blending because don't want to be seen as different, as motivated, as trying. The raised nail gets the hammer & all that.
Of course, this is precisely the mentality that led me to a 50+ lb weight gain in the first place. It was so easy to sit and go through drive-thru's and wish. So ridiculously hard and different to run and cook healthy meals and actually do. No one else was, at least I'd managed to steer my way clear of anyone who was (convenient, yes?) And before you know it- bam! Hello 206.
I dont' want that: the excuses, the fear, the denial, the beige. I want something more even if I am terrified of reaching for it; even if I am terrified of attaining it.
I know who I am and that is not some sales psycho. I know what I want and how I want to help others, and for me that will mean walking a clean line. No obnoxious nonsense. No marketing assaults when friends are least expecting it. No over-the-top in your face machine gun posts on Facebook. Just consistently being me.
It's just so funny to me that here, less than a month from my 37th birthday. I still have to talk myself into having the courage to follow my heart and live by my own truth. Perhaps I'll go easy on my son, when I see him avoiding potential failure, possible rejection like the Plague. Afterall, this standing firm business isn't nearly as easy at it looks.
Until next,
Not Yet
"We don't really have no's; we have now and not yet."
These were the first words I heard when I registered that my audition was a complete bust. Okay, not complete, I have the look & the "general essence" of Hustle. Otherwise, not so much.
Gotta say, I didn't see it coming. Even with my running late, chewing gum to help loosen my cheeks for big smiles (and forgetting to spit it out!), having to wear a waist band dripping in someone else's sweat and talk into a mic that I'd never used. Not with the fact that the sound system wasn't IPod compatible and my back up CD didn't have the music I've been using. Would you believe, not even with the fact that I was on a Jane Fonda style carpeted stage that I was certain I would fall from at any moment. Not when the evaluator stopped the music about 10 minutes in. Even then I still didn't have a clue.
That is, until I took a few moments of reflection. Then I went from bummed to excited & hungry in a way I haven't been in a very long while.
Here's the run down:
First things first. I didn't suck completely; I just lacked several things that need to be addressed before you hit the A-Team at a club like 24. I am certain that I could totally kick booty at a local community center. No problem. Still, I've always been kinda type A and if I'm going to do a thing, I want total world domination - or at least a close second :o).
In short, I just wasn't ready. It's been 9 months since I've been really into fitness again after an 11 year lapse and even then I was into participating, not instructing. Further, it's been less than 2 months since I first thought about being an instructor - I can cut myself a little slack here and take it slow :o)
With that said, the feedback rocked! I listened and, of course, felt the lump in my throat. I felt it on the way to my car and about 5 minutes down the road.
Then the irony of the situation hit me: I used to be in the evaluator's chair. I used to see areas for improvement and try to point them out with tact. I walked that line between nonnegotiable expectations and honoring someone's effort.
It wasn't easy and I didn't have nearly the grace that this person had.
Not a proud moment for me, but it's true.
I remember wondering what in the world these people were doing by bringing less than and expecting it to be enough. It kind of drove me nuts. There were those who held the philosophy that they were trying, even trying their best, so that should count for something. I always thought, "Are you nutz?" If my brain surgeon didn't quite have what it took, but he was really trying, should it matter? Duh.
The thing is that there are some areas of life that are open to a great deal of leeway while others are not. You can't totally suck at being a mom and hope someone will spot you the points. Sure, there are a few things like housekeeping, availability or coolness can be offered a Mulligan. But there are the basics that simply must be done, like safety, security, advocacy, food & love. If you aren't providing those, you kind of suck (sorry).
When I was a teacher working with teachers, I would think: you can not dial it in here. Kids get one chance at this school year. Just one. And no, you can't suck because it's a hard time. You can leave and come back when you are ready to be what they need. Sorry.
So now, on this day that started with me writing an email to a student in my Research Writing class that outlined what the expectation is and why that would pretty much be the only acceptable product - afterall, it's a research class; ya kinda hafta have research - and then led to my being informed of the expectation and why it would pretty much be the standard I needed to meet, I am actually encouraged.
I know that expectations make sense. I know that there are efforts that aren't good enough, at least not yet. I also know that this does not mean I shouldn't strive to be good enough. Everyday, a little more. And believe you me, I will be kickin booty and takin names very soon.
Until then, I'm not ready to give up on setting my own expectations or on meeting the expectations of others. I'm not ready to sit down and start making a laundry list of excuses and explanations. I've been at home for a while, but I am not out of the excellence game. Not yet.
Until next,
These were the first words I heard when I registered that my audition was a complete bust. Okay, not complete, I have the look & the "general essence" of Hustle. Otherwise, not so much.
Gotta say, I didn't see it coming. Even with my running late, chewing gum to help loosen my cheeks for big smiles (and forgetting to spit it out!), having to wear a waist band dripping in someone else's sweat and talk into a mic that I'd never used. Not with the fact that the sound system wasn't IPod compatible and my back up CD didn't have the music I've been using. Would you believe, not even with the fact that I was on a Jane Fonda style carpeted stage that I was certain I would fall from at any moment. Not when the evaluator stopped the music about 10 minutes in. Even then I still didn't have a clue.
That is, until I took a few moments of reflection. Then I went from bummed to excited & hungry in a way I haven't been in a very long while.
Here's the run down:
First things first. I didn't suck completely; I just lacked several things that need to be addressed before you hit the A-Team at a club like 24. I am certain that I could totally kick booty at a local community center. No problem. Still, I've always been kinda type A and if I'm going to do a thing, I want total world domination - or at least a close second :o).
In short, I just wasn't ready. It's been 9 months since I've been really into fitness again after an 11 year lapse and even then I was into participating, not instructing. Further, it's been less than 2 months since I first thought about being an instructor - I can cut myself a little slack here and take it slow :o)
With that said, the feedback rocked! I listened and, of course, felt the lump in my throat. I felt it on the way to my car and about 5 minutes down the road.
Then the irony of the situation hit me: I used to be in the evaluator's chair. I used to see areas for improvement and try to point them out with tact. I walked that line between nonnegotiable expectations and honoring someone's effort.
It wasn't easy and I didn't have nearly the grace that this person had.
Not a proud moment for me, but it's true.
I remember wondering what in the world these people were doing by bringing less than and expecting it to be enough. It kind of drove me nuts. There were those who held the philosophy that they were trying, even trying their best, so that should count for something. I always thought, "Are you nutz?" If my brain surgeon didn't quite have what it took, but he was really trying, should it matter? Duh.
The thing is that there are some areas of life that are open to a great deal of leeway while others are not. You can't totally suck at being a mom and hope someone will spot you the points. Sure, there are a few things like housekeeping, availability or coolness can be offered a Mulligan. But there are the basics that simply must be done, like safety, security, advocacy, food & love. If you aren't providing those, you kind of suck (sorry).
When I was a teacher working with teachers, I would think: you can not dial it in here. Kids get one chance at this school year. Just one. And no, you can't suck because it's a hard time. You can leave and come back when you are ready to be what they need. Sorry.
So now, on this day that started with me writing an email to a student in my Research Writing class that outlined what the expectation is and why that would pretty much be the only acceptable product - afterall, it's a research class; ya kinda hafta have research - and then led to my being informed of the expectation and why it would pretty much be the standard I needed to meet, I am actually encouraged.
I know that expectations make sense. I know that there are efforts that aren't good enough, at least not yet. I also know that this does not mean I shouldn't strive to be good enough. Everyday, a little more. And believe you me, I will be kickin booty and takin names very soon.
Until then, I'm not ready to give up on setting my own expectations or on meeting the expectations of others. I'm not ready to sit down and start making a laundry list of excuses and explanations. I've been at home for a while, but I am not out of the excellence game. Not yet.
Until next,
9.24.2010
Neophyte No-no's: Battle Scars
I'm not sure how many people who read this blog have ever battled with body image. I'm not just talking weight, I mean anything: skin, proportions, you name it. If you've been battling, I can only assume that there have been wins and losses, ups and downs. There are days when you are sailing and days when you are scraping the barrel's bottom.
These are the moments that I've been considering lately.
Actually, I sat down to write this blog yesterday but couldn't. You see, I made a commitment a while back to use my words responsibly. I think that the ability to write is a gift that I've been given, by God and the Universe, for a purpose that I don't entirely understand. However, like Arthur's gift of Excalibur, it can be weilded to liberate and inspire or to damage and degrade.
I'm committed to using my gifts for good instead of evil, but don't think for one second that the alternative isn't tempting.
So what's the connection between body image battles & words that can cut like mythical swords? It comes down to wounds, retaliation and recovery.
The battle to love yourself despite all the negative messages and artillery that come hurling your way can be overwhelming. Once we figure it out, I think there is a temptation to go a little medieval on those we feel were hurtful in the past.
Maybe it was a comment, a look, whatever, but something someone said may have made you feel like less, like a failure for not winning in this one particular aspect of life. I know that at 201 pounds, I had many such stings. Too many to name, some too hurtful to remember.
One of these came from someone close to me, very close. On a visit to her home, this person spent time going on and on about how good she looked and how much weight she'd lost. Then she gave me a top to bottom appraisal and with a spark of inspiration, she broke her thought and said, "Oh, we should see if you can fit some of my old clothes, I mean, they are entirely too big for me, but you might be able to wear a few."
It's been years now and the ache of that humiliation still lingers.
You see I'd always been in shape until I had children, worked full time, and lost myself in the onslaught of newly defined roles. I didn't realize it, but this person felt inferior before, when I was "on top". Now, that the tables had turned, she took the opportunity to make me feel as small as she'd once felt.
I received a call from her recently. Seems word of my weight loss had traveled. Rather than catching up or talking about what we normally would, the conversation was consumed with confessions of weight gain and eating blunders.
Guess the universe turned again & once again, I was on the winning side.
This was a little something I like to call a defining moment. The point when your words and actions define who you are and who you are committed to becoming.
Here's what I chose to do: Say nothing. I'm not your food and fitness priest; there is no sense in confessing to me because I have no desire to judge or absolve you. Heavy, thin, fit, or fat. I don't care. Your battle with your body is your business. I love you because of who you are, not because of what you look like.
At 201 lbs, I needed love. Moreover, I deserved love. I deserve the very same thing right now and will continue to deserve it tomorrow. Part of loving yourself is protecting the person you need yourself to be. I need to be positive. I need to be gentle. With others and with myself. No urge for revenge or retaliation is worth losing what both provide in my life.
In my humble opinion, that whole cycle of attaching worth to your body image is nuts. You can't wait to look the way you want so that you can feel worthy of love. My self talk during the fitness journey has always been that I am worthy now. I work out because I am worthy, not so that I can become worthy.
Whereever you are in your journey, I hope that you will embrace the idea that you are worthy and that worthiness is the fuel, not the finish line.
Until next,
These are the moments that I've been considering lately.
Actually, I sat down to write this blog yesterday but couldn't. You see, I made a commitment a while back to use my words responsibly. I think that the ability to write is a gift that I've been given, by God and the Universe, for a purpose that I don't entirely understand. However, like Arthur's gift of Excalibur, it can be weilded to liberate and inspire or to damage and degrade.
I'm committed to using my gifts for good instead of evil, but don't think for one second that the alternative isn't tempting.
So what's the connection between body image battles & words that can cut like mythical swords? It comes down to wounds, retaliation and recovery.
The battle to love yourself despite all the negative messages and artillery that come hurling your way can be overwhelming. Once we figure it out, I think there is a temptation to go a little medieval on those we feel were hurtful in the past.
Maybe it was a comment, a look, whatever, but something someone said may have made you feel like less, like a failure for not winning in this one particular aspect of life. I know that at 201 pounds, I had many such stings. Too many to name, some too hurtful to remember.
One of these came from someone close to me, very close. On a visit to her home, this person spent time going on and on about how good she looked and how much weight she'd lost. Then she gave me a top to bottom appraisal and with a spark of inspiration, she broke her thought and said, "Oh, we should see if you can fit some of my old clothes, I mean, they are entirely too big for me, but you might be able to wear a few."
It's been years now and the ache of that humiliation still lingers.
You see I'd always been in shape until I had children, worked full time, and lost myself in the onslaught of newly defined roles. I didn't realize it, but this person felt inferior before, when I was "on top". Now, that the tables had turned, she took the opportunity to make me feel as small as she'd once felt.
I received a call from her recently. Seems word of my weight loss had traveled. Rather than catching up or talking about what we normally would, the conversation was consumed with confessions of weight gain and eating blunders.
Guess the universe turned again & once again, I was on the winning side.
This was a little something I like to call a defining moment. The point when your words and actions define who you are and who you are committed to becoming.
Here's what I chose to do: Say nothing. I'm not your food and fitness priest; there is no sense in confessing to me because I have no desire to judge or absolve you. Heavy, thin, fit, or fat. I don't care. Your battle with your body is your business. I love you because of who you are, not because of what you look like.
At 201 lbs, I needed love. Moreover, I deserved love. I deserve the very same thing right now and will continue to deserve it tomorrow. Part of loving yourself is protecting the person you need yourself to be. I need to be positive. I need to be gentle. With others and with myself. No urge for revenge or retaliation is worth losing what both provide in my life.
In my humble opinion, that whole cycle of attaching worth to your body image is nuts. You can't wait to look the way you want so that you can feel worthy of love. My self talk during the fitness journey has always been that I am worthy now. I work out because I am worthy, not so that I can become worthy.
Whereever you are in your journey, I hope that you will embrace the idea that you are worthy and that worthiness is the fuel, not the finish line.
Until next,
8.19.2010
It's not you, it's me
Okay, so I know you've heard this one before -- that it's not you; it's me -- but stick with me on this one.
I have walked around having what is tantamount to an out-of-body experience in the last two weeks.
I actually used the words "claw ___'s eyes out" in several different contexts. Me? Yep, perky Patty herself.
I've bemoaned my thin skin, my aggravation, I even fist-pumped to "We're not gonna take it!" by Twisted Sister when it slipped into the play list during spin on Wednesday. Forget the Ghost Rider, I have been hell on wheels people.
All the while, I've wondered what gives. What, exactly, is the dealy-o? Then as usual it all came together after a little girl time, a little rum, a little facebook and a good night's rest.
While chatting with a few members of the goddess squad last night, I realized that what I'd perceived (and received) as a series of insults were really just people responding to the new, clearly defined and strengthened me. I am positive because I want to be. Because I am blessed and I enjoy having the joy I feel exude from my words, my smile, my life.
Would you believe that I was offended because I'd been described as " really overly excited?" When one of the goddess squad members called me "exuberant," my little heart took flight. C'mon. I'm an English major, folks. While "overly excited" might not get an "A" for delivery, the message is pretty darn similar so what's up with being offended?
This same series of revelations continued througout the evening, through my dreams and into the morning when I read a newer friend's post. She wrote of not riding the fence, but asserting who you are with pride and confidence. As I read, my light bulb came on.
You see, that's what all of this is really about. It's about me knowing who I want to be and even about me becoming that person. Since it's still new, I'm kind of like Jake Sully in those first clumsy moments in the avatar: It feels new and right, but it also feels alien and raw.
Truth be told, I didn't know exactly how to take comments about my positivity -- do I bust out with a "What you talkin' bout, Willis?" or do I gracefully say thank you? The same holds true for other new experiences that have me feeling a little shaky in the knees.
Now that my older son is moving up and moving away, what is my purpose in his life, in this role as mom? Will I be ready for the new ways in which he'll need me?
Now that I'm defining myself, how do those who've known me for years navigate the newly defined territories and boundary lines?
I'd like to believe that "becoming" is like blooming into a beautiful little flower, but it isn't always. It's more like waking up in a 10 foot avatar suit and knockin crap over while you get your stuff straight.
Ya see, in the time that I've been asking myself what on earth is up with the cold-pricklies that have been coming my way, I may have wanted to look inward on this one. I don't fault myself for the awkward moments, the graceless slips, but I do own my responsibility to figure it out and to own the fullness of this process.
Thank God for the guides that inform my path.
Until next,
I have walked around having what is tantamount to an out-of-body experience in the last two weeks.
I actually used the words "claw ___'s eyes out" in several different contexts. Me? Yep, perky Patty herself.
I've bemoaned my thin skin, my aggravation, I even fist-pumped to "We're not gonna take it!" by Twisted Sister when it slipped into the play list during spin on Wednesday. Forget the Ghost Rider, I have been hell on wheels people.
All the while, I've wondered what gives. What, exactly, is the dealy-o? Then as usual it all came together after a little girl time, a little rum, a little facebook and a good night's rest.
While chatting with a few members of the goddess squad last night, I realized that what I'd perceived (and received) as a series of insults were really just people responding to the new, clearly defined and strengthened me. I am positive because I want to be. Because I am blessed and I enjoy having the joy I feel exude from my words, my smile, my life.
Would you believe that I was offended because I'd been described as " really overly excited?" When one of the goddess squad members called me "exuberant," my little heart took flight. C'mon. I'm an English major, folks. While "overly excited" might not get an "A" for delivery, the message is pretty darn similar so what's up with being offended?
This same series of revelations continued througout the evening, through my dreams and into the morning when I read a newer friend's post. She wrote of not riding the fence, but asserting who you are with pride and confidence. As I read, my light bulb came on.
You see, that's what all of this is really about. It's about me knowing who I want to be and even about me becoming that person. Since it's still new, I'm kind of like Jake Sully in those first clumsy moments in the avatar: It feels new and right, but it also feels alien and raw.
Truth be told, I didn't know exactly how to take comments about my positivity -- do I bust out with a "What you talkin' bout, Willis?" or do I gracefully say thank you? The same holds true for other new experiences that have me feeling a little shaky in the knees.
Now that my older son is moving up and moving away, what is my purpose in his life, in this role as mom? Will I be ready for the new ways in which he'll need me?
Now that I'm defining myself, how do those who've known me for years navigate the newly defined territories and boundary lines?
I'd like to believe that "becoming" is like blooming into a beautiful little flower, but it isn't always. It's more like waking up in a 10 foot avatar suit and knockin crap over while you get your stuff straight.
Ya see, in the time that I've been asking myself what on earth is up with the cold-pricklies that have been coming my way, I may have wanted to look inward on this one. I don't fault myself for the awkward moments, the graceless slips, but I do own my responsibility to figure it out and to own the fullness of this process.
Thank God for the guides that inform my path.
Until next,
8.17.2010
Bring it, baby!
The last 14 days have been a wild ride, not the kind that is fun. Nah, this is the kind that sucks hard core. Still, I find myself wanting to run at the day like Phoebe in Central Park screaming "Bring it, baby! Bring it!"
First, the context: Here's a recap of the highs and lows.
Sunday. First, I woke up with a horrible rash on my neck. Apparently, I am now, at 36 years of age, allergic to shellfish for the first time ever. Go figure! On this same day, I woke with a kink in my neck that limited my ability to look left -- very Derek Zoolander. As a special cherry on top, I got my monthly visitor that day as well. Yum! I couldn't use Icy Hot to calm the kink because of the rash, so I was one crampy, splotchy Frankenstein's monster for days.
Thursday. I hit the 30 lbs. down mark (woo hoo)! & that was absolutely wonderful! My husband offered me chocolate cake to celebrate and I honestly didn't want any. Thank you, Shakeology!
Friday. I hyperextended my right leg while furiously attacking the AMT machine (similar to an eliptical) at my gym. Still, I'm training so I have to suck it up & foam roll my self silly :o)
Saturday. Like sunlight screaming in the face of a hangover victim, the terrifying reality that I am, in fact, registered to run the Jailbreak on September 19th hit me as I huffed and puffed up and down teen weeny hills. Despite my desire & perceived ability, I wore the wrong clothes (a cute little running skirt) and ended up with chaffed and bleeding thighs. I took two days off, but again, I'm in training so I had to suck it up!
So you can see I was kind of all over the place so to speak and maybe this is why I was feeling a little delicate. Maybe this is also why, when faced with a few nice-nasty comments and WTF situations in a row, I was left wanting to claw someone's eyes out. Maybe that's why I dreamed of punching and kicking my way through the faces that had left me feeling like someone else's punching bag.
Did I mention I'd started Turbo Kick Boxing? That might be relevant.
Oh, & I also saw the movie Kick Ass last week? Loved it. This might also be relevant.
Interestingly enough, I was talking to my mom about a situation where she felt that petty high school sensation of others being mean for no frickin reason at all. She was in shock. Afterall, she's pushing 60; isn't that sort of nonsense supposed to be over at this point in life?
Apparently not.
And apparently the fact that I'm pushing my own boundaries, meeting my own goals, finding such personal balance and peace doesn't make me exempt from what I perceive as attacks either.
The difference is that I've been kicking ass and taking names -- the miles, the pounds, the fears have all been falling by the waste side in the past 6 months -- and I am not the person I once was. I'm all for taking on life's ups and downs, for grabbing the bull by the horns and getting it done, but when it comes to having someone else's crap dumped on me, well, that's where I draw the line.
My new nature, the healthier, more engaged me, likes to look for the lesson in experiences. So what's up with this little nugget? I think the lesson is that no matter what, there will always be two battles raging. The internal and the external.
Getting fit is partially about the internal battles. Fighting the voice in your head that questions your ability , your strength, and pushing through to prove just how kick ass you really are. Then there are the external battles. Those that hit you when you aren't expecting them, when you haven't had the chance to steel yourself emotionally. What then?
I can't pretend to know for sure, but I can say this. I have a life time of proof that points to my ability to do anything through faith, presence and determination. If anyone has reason to fear, it definitely isn't me.
Until next,
First, the context: Here's a recap of the highs and lows.
Sunday. First, I woke up with a horrible rash on my neck. Apparently, I am now, at 36 years of age, allergic to shellfish for the first time ever. Go figure! On this same day, I woke with a kink in my neck that limited my ability to look left -- very Derek Zoolander. As a special cherry on top, I got my monthly visitor that day as well. Yum! I couldn't use Icy Hot to calm the kink because of the rash, so I was one crampy, splotchy Frankenstein's monster for days.
Thursday. I hit the 30 lbs. down mark (woo hoo)! & that was absolutely wonderful! My husband offered me chocolate cake to celebrate and I honestly didn't want any. Thank you, Shakeology!
Friday. I hyperextended my right leg while furiously attacking the AMT machine (similar to an eliptical) at my gym. Still, I'm training so I have to suck it up & foam roll my self silly :o)
Saturday. Like sunlight screaming in the face of a hangover victim, the terrifying reality that I am, in fact, registered to run the Jailbreak on September 19th hit me as I huffed and puffed up and down teen weeny hills. Despite my desire & perceived ability, I wore the wrong clothes (a cute little running skirt) and ended up with chaffed and bleeding thighs. I took two days off, but again, I'm in training so I had to suck it up!
So you can see I was kind of all over the place so to speak and maybe this is why I was feeling a little delicate. Maybe this is also why, when faced with a few nice-nasty comments and WTF situations in a row, I was left wanting to claw someone's eyes out. Maybe that's why I dreamed of punching and kicking my way through the faces that had left me feeling like someone else's punching bag.
Did I mention I'd started Turbo Kick Boxing? That might be relevant.
Oh, & I also saw the movie Kick Ass last week? Loved it. This might also be relevant.
Interestingly enough, I was talking to my mom about a situation where she felt that petty high school sensation of others being mean for no frickin reason at all. She was in shock. Afterall, she's pushing 60; isn't that sort of nonsense supposed to be over at this point in life?
Apparently not.
And apparently the fact that I'm pushing my own boundaries, meeting my own goals, finding such personal balance and peace doesn't make me exempt from what I perceive as attacks either.
The difference is that I've been kicking ass and taking names -- the miles, the pounds, the fears have all been falling by the waste side in the past 6 months -- and I am not the person I once was. I'm all for taking on life's ups and downs, for grabbing the bull by the horns and getting it done, but when it comes to having someone else's crap dumped on me, well, that's where I draw the line.
My new nature, the healthier, more engaged me, likes to look for the lesson in experiences. So what's up with this little nugget? I think the lesson is that no matter what, there will always be two battles raging. The internal and the external.
Getting fit is partially about the internal battles. Fighting the voice in your head that questions your ability , your strength, and pushing through to prove just how kick ass you really are. Then there are the external battles. Those that hit you when you aren't expecting them, when you haven't had the chance to steel yourself emotionally. What then?
I can't pretend to know for sure, but I can say this. I have a life time of proof that points to my ability to do anything through faith, presence and determination. If anyone has reason to fear, it definitely isn't me.
Until next,
6.10.2010
Losing it
For me, this week has been all about losing it.
On one hand, my boys are home for the summer and at times I've felt that there is a serious (and very real) possibility that I could find myself sucking my thumb and sitting in a corner one day soon. But that's not the kind of losing it I'm talking about -- at least not today.
Today I'm talking about the other kind of losing it. Here's the situation:
I spent three hours going through my closet and sorting out what fit and what didn't on Monday. It's looking like a ghost town in there now.
Several of my button up shorts slide on and off without my having to touch the button or the zipper.
My sexy, stretchy fuzzy pants (also lovingly known as my "work pants") droop and sag in the booty. These days it's far more like trash in the stash than junk in the trunk.
And yes, the absolute most horrifying of all. . .
My boobs look like sad little raisins melting in the cups of my bra.
Of course there's a big part of me that is ecstatic!!! Afterall, this is what I've been working for. I wanted to get healthy, to get fit, and these are signs that I'm on the right track.
Since March, I've lost 18 lbs. My body fat is down from 31% (that's obese) to 27% (that's on the beefy side of healthy). I've lost four inches from my chest, 5 inches from my waist and hips and one from my thighs (I swear those suckers don't want to budge!). And it's all good.
The thing is, as I was tossing out my clothes and internalizing that almost everything will soon need to be replaced, I felt oddly uncertain.
Some of these clothes have been my security blankets. The faithful friends that covered my gut or camoflaged my butt. These are the bras that kept things locked and loaded. This is the me that I knew had to change, but it's also the only me I've known for a very long time.
Maybe it was PMS, maybe it was end of the school year nostalgia. I don't know. But I found myself sighing as I went through my closet and feeling a pange of sadness. It's one thing to hope for something; it's quite another to receive it.
Ah, but just as I felt like I was slipping into the folds of self-indulgence, my hubby walked by with his typically perfect timing. He tapped me on my melting boob and said, "Hey, it's time to go shopping -- your stuff doesn't fit, so go buy more already."
Ka-blam! That snapped me right out of my reverie!
What's a girl to do? He's practically demanding that I shop: Are there any words more sexy than "Go Shopping" in the English language? If so, I don't know what they are!
The man has a way with words, gotta love him.
On one hand, my boys are home for the summer and at times I've felt that there is a serious (and very real) possibility that I could find myself sucking my thumb and sitting in a corner one day soon. But that's not the kind of losing it I'm talking about -- at least not today.
Today I'm talking about the other kind of losing it. Here's the situation:
I spent three hours going through my closet and sorting out what fit and what didn't on Monday. It's looking like a ghost town in there now.
Several of my button up shorts slide on and off without my having to touch the button or the zipper.
My sexy, stretchy fuzzy pants (also lovingly known as my "work pants") droop and sag in the booty. These days it's far more like trash in the stash than junk in the trunk.
And yes, the absolute most horrifying of all. . .
My boobs look like sad little raisins melting in the cups of my bra.
Of course there's a big part of me that is ecstatic!!! Afterall, this is what I've been working for. I wanted to get healthy, to get fit, and these are signs that I'm on the right track.
Since March, I've lost 18 lbs. My body fat is down from 31% (that's obese) to 27% (that's on the beefy side of healthy). I've lost four inches from my chest, 5 inches from my waist and hips and one from my thighs (I swear those suckers don't want to budge!). And it's all good.
The thing is, as I was tossing out my clothes and internalizing that almost everything will soon need to be replaced, I felt oddly uncertain.
Some of these clothes have been my security blankets. The faithful friends that covered my gut or camoflaged my butt. These are the bras that kept things locked and loaded. This is the me that I knew had to change, but it's also the only me I've known for a very long time.
Maybe it was PMS, maybe it was end of the school year nostalgia. I don't know. But I found myself sighing as I went through my closet and feeling a pange of sadness. It's one thing to hope for something; it's quite another to receive it.
Ah, but just as I felt like I was slipping into the folds of self-indulgence, my hubby walked by with his typically perfect timing. He tapped me on my melting boob and said, "Hey, it's time to go shopping -- your stuff doesn't fit, so go buy more already."
Ka-blam! That snapped me right out of my reverie!
What's a girl to do? He's practically demanding that I shop: Are there any words more sexy than "Go Shopping" in the English language? If so, I don't know what they are!
The man has a way with words, gotta love him.
5.21.2010
Tiny Victories
One of the (many) reasons that I started working out this spring was my kids. It was very important for me to project all of the things that being a fit mom will project: healthy eating habits, physical activity, fun and positivity.
I've always tried to set goals and share discussions with them regarding what it will take to reach them, but physicality has never truly been a major part of my relationship with them.
Having two sons, I kind of hid behind the excuse that daddy will play with them; I am here to nurture and love them. Then daddy got busy with a new job and mommy, well, mommy was still pretty much holding down the position of sofa jockey. I didn't do heat, or sweat, or discomfort and playing with my boys in the Texas heat meant experiencing all three.
It didn't take long to know this was wrong. To know what the real source of irritation was when I had to go upstairs to answer a question (that it was physically exhausting) or to understand that my older son was putting on weight because he was spending more and more time with me (fast food + AC + sofa = 10 lbs on his 49 inch frame).
So now it's been 4 months since my own personal commitment to moving toward all over fitness and the tiny victories are starting to come rolling in.
For Mother's Day, my 7 year old listed my weight as 30 lbs (God bless that boy!) and said that the activities he enjoys most are playing with me and cooking with me. Image after image in his little book dedicated to me featured me active -- playing, singing, laughing, chasing.
I'm guessing you know I cried. And cried. And cried.
I was touched, but it was more than just mother's pride. It was plain old fashioned pride, the kind that comes from trying something that's hard and coming out on the other side with something to show for your efforts.
On Tuesday, I passed the boys' school and saw my 10 year old standing outside at PE. He shouted, "Mom!" and when a few friends looked around, he said, "That's my mom, yeah, she's doing her morning run." I felt so proud. Heck, I'm crying now as I type.
Today, I spent the morning with my 7 year old, jumping and dancing and playing in the sun. Then I hustled over to the 10 year old's class where I joined a couple of other moms and led the kids through Simon Says, Heads Up Seven Up and the Hokey Pokey -- all fairly physical games, all games in which I participated.
I burned 1400 calories by 1:30 in the afternoon and I didn't feel exhausted in the least. I felt a little giddy to tell you the truth. I'd kind of forgotten how fun it is to play.
You see, this is what I wanted. I wanted it all, the full spectrum of life and not just the numbed existence that comes from cocooning yourself in inactivity & food. Tiny victories, yes, but magical ones nonetheless.
Until next,
5.20.2010
Fun Fitness Find: Blinged Bodybuggs from blingmythang.com
My newest fun fitness find is my blinged bodybugg armstrap from blingmythang.com. (Big thanks to Jen Boatman!)
Do I need it? No, but I love it!
I got it in the mail today and you'd have thought it was Christmas! I was a blur of woohoos and baby, did I need it after having not one, not two, but three servings of stove top cornbread stuffing with oysters & cranberries.
I opened my blinged thang and felt like Cinderella getting a dress for the ball. I high tailed it out of here and hit the gym -- again -- just so I could take it out for a twirl.
I know that no one needs fancy styles or clothes to work out. There's a woman who walks the trail I run who wears some sort of old leather flats on her morning journey. It also looks like she's wearing cut off warmup pants and her husband's old jersey. It's the same outfit every time I see her and I am certain that she is burning calories and feeling great.
She shakes her head at me the way you indulge a silly child as I run by, clad in matching outfits, bodybugg on one arm, lime green IPod on the other, Head bobbing to Ludacris. I can only imagine what she'll think when she sees me whizzing by with my thang just blinging.
I don't care, I'm Cindy in glass slippers running like it's five till midnight.
And yes, my husband just smiles at me with that smile that says, "That's why I love you baby, because you are sweet, but just a little bit crazy."
It's all good.
Here's the deal: When I work out, I can think of a million reasons to just stop. To sit my rump down on the concrete or wood or spongy gym floor and say, "To heck with it." Then I catch a glimpse of myself and I see a bright happy color -- the lime green or pink of my shirt, the screaming orange of my Ryka shoes, coordinated blacks of my pants and visor -- and I look the part, I feel the part.
Truth be told, that money used to go toward burgers and fries. Now I cook dinner and pool the cash for workout toys. How can that be wrong?
I like pretty things. I like to feel good when I catch my own reflection -- Lord knows it's been a while since I could truly say that. For now, I feel like my blinged thang is the equivalent of Dorothy's ruby slippers; it is sparkly and it can help me tap the strength inside to be where I so long to stand.
Until next,
5.19.2010
Mantra De Jour: Adapt-Innovate-Overcome
And so, before I say anything more, I have an announcement: I write you today, 1 pound lighter.
You'll never guess how I did it -- I ate less and burned more. I know! Who knew? Crazy!!!
But seriously folks, that's the secret: 3500 calories in deficit. Every time.
Now on to the mantra of the day, "Innovate, Adapt & Overcome."
There's a guy with a suspicious amount of energy in my Sunday Shadow Boxing class who shouted this phrase during the class a couple of weeks ago. At the time, the instructor was having technical difficulties that amounted to no microphone and no music. Her attempt to remain upbeat was impressive, but the tell-tale hives showing up on her neck were not fooling me.
This is when Super Enthusiastic guy (while bouncing in place like Tigger) said, "That's cool. Innovate, Adapt & Overcome."
In the week and a half since, his three word phrase has become my mantra. When I see a challenge, I try to figure out which of the three paths will lead to a solution. Here are a few cases in point:
Innovate
Try something new or a new way of seeing/approaching what you are already doing. For me, it's been running. This is something new, something terrifying, and something exhausting. Still, it's jumpstarted my cardio stamina like nothing else. Today I finished Zumba and felt like I could do more. Three months ago I wanted to throw up 30 minutes in.
Little by little, yard by yard, I'm running longer and faster. I'm also getting a little more efficient thanks to a few tips from Betty the Meanie. It's amazing how trying something new or trying something old in a new way can take you to a place you didn't think you could reach.
Adapt
Sometimes, the key is to simply accept what's happening and figure out a way to make it work. For whatever reason, food is a major issue for me from 1 to 4 p.m. almost every day. This is usually when I screw up on a grand scale. I've tried many options, but the fact is, that this is a struggle. My new plan? I simply adapt to the situation. No one major meal, but a deconstructed one that simply finds me grazing like the munch hound I am during this window of time.
I like to eat and I think about food on an unnaturally consuming level during these times. That's cool, I am who I am. Now the trick is to find a way to adapt to the situation, to change at least one factor so that all the pegs fit nicely into place. So far the deconstructed meal is working for me (I mean, I lost a pound people, so that clearly makes me an expert -- LOL).
Overcome
Then there are the icky things that lurk on the periphery of my fitness program. Things like that funky Spartacus Workout that Betty the Meanie gave me. It's got mountain climbers and T-pushups for crying outloud! First of all, the very sound of something like a Spartacus Workout sounds crazy to me. Doing it hurts like the dickens. But doing it alone? finding the motivation? That is just plain insane.
You see, I may like sexy hips & arms, but I also like not feeling like I'm going to die. Thinking about this workout reminds me that I will probably feel like I'm going to die if I do it. And that's exactly why I have to do it, at least once a week.
As you may or may not remember, I recently had to start at ground zero with two exercises -- pushups and lunges -- because my form was wrong. Bad form can cause problems like working the wrong muscle and can result in odd physcial structure and even pain. I was humiliated to have to relearn push ups after I prided myself on finally graduating to the "real" kind and not "girl" push ups. Alas, my arms were not bending deep enough, se la vie.
Knowing this, Betty the Meanie introduced a new exercise routine that only includes four exercises (the good news) that you repeat 5 times (the not so good news) in the span of 20 minutes. One of these, is a round of 10 push ups. Seriously? If you are quick with math, you'll catch that this means 50 pushups in 20 minutes.
Ah, but we are overcoming, are we not? So guess who cranked the things out -- me! And I'm ecstatic, because guess whose tatas are lifting -- that's right, me, baby!
For me, the major challenge associated with this little mantra, Innovate-Adapt-Overcome, is that it forces me to push into the unfamiliar and, truthfully, uncomfortable zones. It forces me to try something new when I feel very stupid, like the lunges Betty the Meanie has me doing across the width of the gym in front of everybody like a total yahoo.
It means recognizing that some challenges need to be conquered and others simply require an adjustment on my part. I love food and I don't plan to stop eating it any time soon or to replace it with disgusting things or fads or whatever. But I realize that there has to be some change, some adaptation.
I also realize that there are some things that really suck and just aren't fun no matter how you slice it, but that have to be done to get the results I'm seeking. At those times, I just have to man up (or woman up in my case) and get the thing done.
Adapt-Innovate-Overcome. I like this one & I hope it brings you some encouragement as well.
Until next,
You'll never guess how I did it -- I ate less and burned more. I know! Who knew? Crazy!!!
But seriously folks, that's the secret: 3500 calories in deficit. Every time.
Now on to the mantra of the day, "Innovate, Adapt & Overcome."
There's a guy with a suspicious amount of energy in my Sunday Shadow Boxing class who shouted this phrase during the class a couple of weeks ago. At the time, the instructor was having technical difficulties that amounted to no microphone and no music. Her attempt to remain upbeat was impressive, but the tell-tale hives showing up on her neck were not fooling me.
This is when Super Enthusiastic guy (while bouncing in place like Tigger) said, "That's cool. Innovate, Adapt & Overcome."
In the week and a half since, his three word phrase has become my mantra. When I see a challenge, I try to figure out which of the three paths will lead to a solution. Here are a few cases in point:
Innovate
Try something new or a new way of seeing/approaching what you are already doing. For me, it's been running. This is something new, something terrifying, and something exhausting. Still, it's jumpstarted my cardio stamina like nothing else. Today I finished Zumba and felt like I could do more. Three months ago I wanted to throw up 30 minutes in.
Little by little, yard by yard, I'm running longer and faster. I'm also getting a little more efficient thanks to a few tips from Betty the Meanie. It's amazing how trying something new or trying something old in a new way can take you to a place you didn't think you could reach.
Adapt
Sometimes, the key is to simply accept what's happening and figure out a way to make it work. For whatever reason, food is a major issue for me from 1 to 4 p.m. almost every day. This is usually when I screw up on a grand scale. I've tried many options, but the fact is, that this is a struggle. My new plan? I simply adapt to the situation. No one major meal, but a deconstructed one that simply finds me grazing like the munch hound I am during this window of time.
I like to eat and I think about food on an unnaturally consuming level during these times. That's cool, I am who I am. Now the trick is to find a way to adapt to the situation, to change at least one factor so that all the pegs fit nicely into place. So far the deconstructed meal is working for me (I mean, I lost a pound people, so that clearly makes me an expert -- LOL).
Overcome
Then there are the icky things that lurk on the periphery of my fitness program. Things like that funky Spartacus Workout that Betty the Meanie gave me. It's got mountain climbers and T-pushups for crying outloud! First of all, the very sound of something like a Spartacus Workout sounds crazy to me. Doing it hurts like the dickens. But doing it alone? finding the motivation? That is just plain insane.
You see, I may like sexy hips & arms, but I also like not feeling like I'm going to die. Thinking about this workout reminds me that I will probably feel like I'm going to die if I do it. And that's exactly why I have to do it, at least once a week.
As you may or may not remember, I recently had to start at ground zero with two exercises -- pushups and lunges -- because my form was wrong. Bad form can cause problems like working the wrong muscle and can result in odd physcial structure and even pain. I was humiliated to have to relearn push ups after I prided myself on finally graduating to the "real" kind and not "girl" push ups. Alas, my arms were not bending deep enough, se la vie.
Knowing this, Betty the Meanie introduced a new exercise routine that only includes four exercises (the good news) that you repeat 5 times (the not so good news) in the span of 20 minutes. One of these, is a round of 10 push ups. Seriously? If you are quick with math, you'll catch that this means 50 pushups in 20 minutes.
Ah, but we are overcoming, are we not? So guess who cranked the things out -- me! And I'm ecstatic, because guess whose tatas are lifting -- that's right, me, baby!
For me, the major challenge associated with this little mantra, Innovate-Adapt-Overcome, is that it forces me to push into the unfamiliar and, truthfully, uncomfortable zones. It forces me to try something new when I feel very stupid, like the lunges Betty the Meanie has me doing across the width of the gym in front of everybody like a total yahoo.
It means recognizing that some challenges need to be conquered and others simply require an adjustment on my part. I love food and I don't plan to stop eating it any time soon or to replace it with disgusting things or fads or whatever. But I realize that there has to be some change, some adaptation.
I also realize that there are some things that really suck and just aren't fun no matter how you slice it, but that have to be done to get the results I'm seeking. At those times, I just have to man up (or woman up in my case) and get the thing done.
Adapt-Innovate-Overcome. I like this one & I hope it brings you some encouragement as well.
Until next,
5.13.2010
Thrilled on Thursday
Okeedokey, so I had my biweekly training session with Betty the Meanie today. You may expect groans, but I'm here with nothing but a bucket of wahoos!
As you may know, I've been on a plateau for the last 4 weeks. That's right, what started as "Woohoo! I lost twelve pounds!!!" had dwindled down to "What the heck? Twelve stinkin pounds?" And I was feeling a wee bit frustrated.
Luckily, I didn't lose my determination. I've been pushing since last week to get my mojo back and saying screw the scale for the most part. Secretly, though, I was harboring the hope that I'd drop at least half a pound, but when Weigh-in Wednesday rolled around I remained deadlocked.
I screamed a few comments that are not appropriate for delicate ears and then resigned myself to the ugly truth: Betty the Meanie was going to have to step in & do some straightenin'.
So where's the good news? Why, you may ask, am I thrilled on this fine Thursday?
I'll tell you. First, I lost .8 inches on my waist. Sweet! I lost .5 on the old tatas (thank you, Lord!), and although the scale remained unchanged, I lost three pounds of fat & gained three pounds of muscle. Sweet!
Rule #1: 3500 calories = 1 lb. Always. Either way.
Betty printed my food intake report & lo and behold, my average caloric intake was equal to my average caloric burn. In plain English, that's a standard formula for a plateau. Not exactly rocket science :o).
She also went through my food choices and gave me a little insight into where I was going wrong & what was just fine & dandy. Here are the highlights:
Rule #2: If it comes from the earth, it's good. If it comes from man, not so much (Not that man isn't lovely).
Apparently, margerine is pretty much the devil. It does nothing for you & is rejected by even maggots & flies. Butter in moderation is the better choice.
Coke is way better than diet Coke. I FINALLY got an answer to the aspertame/high fructose corn syrup question. Turns out that both trigger insulin production, but, since they are unnatural, insulin won't take them on. In the end, your body processes them as sugar & turns them to fat, but the insulin surplus causes you to crave sugar. You then, in turn, eat the "diet" food and the naughty food due to a biological craving (not just a psychological one).
And the M&M chocolate chip cookies that show up on that report? Well, turns out there are worse things in life. But they should come earlier rather than later. Convenient: I only crave them later so so long Mr. Cookie . . .
So there you are. I am thrilled this Thursday because the mystery is solved -- I'm not losing weight for obvious reasons that I have the capacity to control. I'm also free to avoid crap-tastic diet food and seize my healthier, tastier options. Nice.
Nothing like a freedom & control cocktail to leave you feeling giddy & buzzed and right now I'm feeling so good I may not need to drive for a while!
Until next,
As you may know, I've been on a plateau for the last 4 weeks. That's right, what started as "Woohoo! I lost twelve pounds!!!" had dwindled down to "What the heck? Twelve stinkin pounds?" And I was feeling a wee bit frustrated.
Luckily, I didn't lose my determination. I've been pushing since last week to get my mojo back and saying screw the scale for the most part. Secretly, though, I was harboring the hope that I'd drop at least half a pound, but when Weigh-in Wednesday rolled around I remained deadlocked.
I screamed a few comments that are not appropriate for delicate ears and then resigned myself to the ugly truth: Betty the Meanie was going to have to step in & do some straightenin'.
So where's the good news? Why, you may ask, am I thrilled on this fine Thursday?
I'll tell you. First, I lost .8 inches on my waist. Sweet! I lost .5 on the old tatas (thank you, Lord!), and although the scale remained unchanged, I lost three pounds of fat & gained three pounds of muscle. Sweet!
Rule #1: 3500 calories = 1 lb. Always. Either way.
- 3500 deficit in a week? one pound lost.
- 3500 surplus in a week? one pound gained.
Betty printed my food intake report & lo and behold, my average caloric intake was equal to my average caloric burn. In plain English, that's a standard formula for a plateau. Not exactly rocket science :o).
She also went through my food choices and gave me a little insight into where I was going wrong & what was just fine & dandy. Here are the highlights:
Rule #2: If it comes from the earth, it's good. If it comes from man, not so much (Not that man isn't lovely).
Apparently, margerine is pretty much the devil. It does nothing for you & is rejected by even maggots & flies. Butter in moderation is the better choice.
Coke is way better than diet Coke. I FINALLY got an answer to the aspertame/high fructose corn syrup question. Turns out that both trigger insulin production, but, since they are unnatural, insulin won't take them on. In the end, your body processes them as sugar & turns them to fat, but the insulin surplus causes you to crave sugar. You then, in turn, eat the "diet" food and the naughty food due to a biological craving (not just a psychological one).
And the M&M chocolate chip cookies that show up on that report? Well, turns out there are worse things in life. But they should come earlier rather than later. Convenient: I only crave them later so so long Mr. Cookie . . .
So there you are. I am thrilled this Thursday because the mystery is solved -- I'm not losing weight for obvious reasons that I have the capacity to control. I'm also free to avoid crap-tastic diet food and seize my healthier, tastier options. Nice.
Nothing like a freedom & control cocktail to leave you feeling giddy & buzzed and right now I'm feeling so good I may not need to drive for a while!
Until next,
5.07.2010
Mojo Mayhem
I was reminded today that it's been a solid week since my last blog post.
So what, you may ask, was I doing with my time? Well, the first couple of days were spent pretty much dicking around. I had my first glass of wine in months -- I think since a margarita with my friend 2 months ago -- and it really knocked me out. I bought a bottle last week, which turned into three by Sunday. Let me tell you, I felt sluggish for days after my last sip (which, by the way, was on Tuesday night).
Also, the outdoor 5K journey turned out to be a full fledge immersion into allergyville. I was Puffy and Wheezy and Groggy and about three other Smurf characters all rolled up into one.
Did I mention the mystery knee pain and serious case of "where did my tits go-itis" I sustained last week? Or the fact that I learned that my form was completely wrong for lunges and pushups?
If you are not familiar with these woes, let me say that doing lunges incorrectly (which is to say, the way that doesn't hurt as much) will result in straining joints like your knees. Similarly, poor form on pushups will build your arms, but not your chest. If you are losing weight, your lady lumps sag a little and the only way to tighten the tatas is with solid chest conditioning.
Learning how to do both exercises correctly meant starting from square one and though I know it shouldn't, it just felt like a failure. On the other hand, not learning meant more knee pain and flat, floppy boobs.
Yeah, you guessed it. Those first few days were spent in woe-is-me-ville or at least riding around and trying to find the way out of that icky town.
The thing is, it isn't always easy to stay positive when you are trying to get your collective crap together. You know, there are just times when you get overwhelmed or feel pain or feel hung over. . .
I think what it all boils down to is that I misplaced my mojo and had to search like hell, retrace my steps, and really concentrate on getting it back.
Fortunately, I found it, scurrying around like that thing in the bad credit score commercial (bad 509!) and I had to nurse it back to civility. I pulled my fanny off the sofa -- and by the way if I may digress, it is absolutely amazing how fast a fanny can turn on you; after weeks of working it up, that sucker had just deflated before my eyes! -- at any rate, I got my deflated fanny off the sofa and hauled into yoga on Wednesday.
In yoga, I found the first little sprinklings of pixie dust, a known remedy for misguided mojos.
I threw down my crow and held that baby for 2 and a half breaths. My moment of glory went a little something like this: inhale 1-2-3-4, (tremble, shake) exhale 1-2-3-4, (tremble, shake) inhale 1-2-3-4, exhale 1-2-3-4, (tremble, shake) inhale 1-2 and topple over to avoid busting face on mat in front of strangers. Trust me, it was fantabulous.
I then decided to just go for it and ended up flipping my down dog position which isn't really as hard as it is scary. You go from all fours facing down, to lifting one leg toward the ceiling, then letting it fall toward the wall, and ultimately letting it fall to the floor so your face is up instead of down. The scary part is trusting that you won't bust your behind -- or just resigning yourself to the reality that you might just!
In the last ten minutes of class, I found myself in a shoulder stand being suffocated by my boobs and trembling with laughter. This was fun, or at least funny, and I realized where my mojo went.
I was taking myself and my process waaaaaaay too seriously. I was forgetting to reward my efforts with laughter. Life is serious enough: fitness shouldn't have to be about high stakes and failure. It should be about celebration and thankfulness for a body that can do whatever it can in that moment, and for a mind that can push it beyond that current reality.
So, I crawled back on the wagon. I spit out the dust and sand that I'd eaten when I fell. And I decided to bring it, and be ecstatic with what I brought. Thursday I went to kickboxing and kicked ass. I might not have looked like much on the outside, but in my mind, I was Van Dam, baby. Friday morning I humbled myself and started from ground zero on my lunges & pushups. Amazingly, it wasn't that bad. I was actually happy to find the new, more appropriate discomfort.
Now I'm getting ready to snuggle up on the sofa with my mojo and watch a little DVRed TV, after all, we've earned it!
Until next,
So what, you may ask, was I doing with my time? Well, the first couple of days were spent pretty much dicking around. I had my first glass of wine in months -- I think since a margarita with my friend 2 months ago -- and it really knocked me out. I bought a bottle last week, which turned into three by Sunday. Let me tell you, I felt sluggish for days after my last sip (which, by the way, was on Tuesday night).
Also, the outdoor 5K journey turned out to be a full fledge immersion into allergyville. I was Puffy and Wheezy and Groggy and about three other Smurf characters all rolled up into one.
Did I mention the mystery knee pain and serious case of "where did my tits go-itis" I sustained last week? Or the fact that I learned that my form was completely wrong for lunges and pushups?
If you are not familiar with these woes, let me say that doing lunges incorrectly (which is to say, the way that doesn't hurt as much) will result in straining joints like your knees. Similarly, poor form on pushups will build your arms, but not your chest. If you are losing weight, your lady lumps sag a little and the only way to tighten the tatas is with solid chest conditioning.
Learning how to do both exercises correctly meant starting from square one and though I know it shouldn't, it just felt like a failure. On the other hand, not learning meant more knee pain and flat, floppy boobs.
Yeah, you guessed it. Those first few days were spent in woe-is-me-ville or at least riding around and trying to find the way out of that icky town.
The thing is, it isn't always easy to stay positive when you are trying to get your collective crap together. You know, there are just times when you get overwhelmed or feel pain or feel hung over. . .
I think what it all boils down to is that I misplaced my mojo and had to search like hell, retrace my steps, and really concentrate on getting it back.
Fortunately, I found it, scurrying around like that thing in the bad credit score commercial (bad 509!) and I had to nurse it back to civility. I pulled my fanny off the sofa -- and by the way if I may digress, it is absolutely amazing how fast a fanny can turn on you; after weeks of working it up, that sucker had just deflated before my eyes! -- at any rate, I got my deflated fanny off the sofa and hauled into yoga on Wednesday.
In yoga, I found the first little sprinklings of pixie dust, a known remedy for misguided mojos.
I threw down my crow and held that baby for 2 and a half breaths. My moment of glory went a little something like this: inhale 1-2-3-4, (tremble, shake) exhale 1-2-3-4, (tremble, shake) inhale 1-2-3-4, exhale 1-2-3-4, (tremble, shake) inhale 1-2 and topple over to avoid busting face on mat in front of strangers. Trust me, it was fantabulous.
I then decided to just go for it and ended up flipping my down dog position which isn't really as hard as it is scary. You go from all fours facing down, to lifting one leg toward the ceiling, then letting it fall toward the wall, and ultimately letting it fall to the floor so your face is up instead of down. The scary part is trusting that you won't bust your behind -- or just resigning yourself to the reality that you might just!
In the last ten minutes of class, I found myself in a shoulder stand being suffocated by my boobs and trembling with laughter. This was fun, or at least funny, and I realized where my mojo went.
I was taking myself and my process waaaaaaay too seriously. I was forgetting to reward my efforts with laughter. Life is serious enough: fitness shouldn't have to be about high stakes and failure. It should be about celebration and thankfulness for a body that can do whatever it can in that moment, and for a mind that can push it beyond that current reality.
So, I crawled back on the wagon. I spit out the dust and sand that I'd eaten when I fell. And I decided to bring it, and be ecstatic with what I brought. Thursday I went to kickboxing and kicked ass. I might not have looked like much on the outside, but in my mind, I was Van Dam, baby. Friday morning I humbled myself and started from ground zero on my lunges & pushups. Amazingly, it wasn't that bad. I was actually happy to find the new, more appropriate discomfort.
Now I'm getting ready to snuggle up on the sofa with my mojo and watch a little DVRed TV, after all, we've earned it!
Until next,
4.30.2010
7 Year Itch
Today is my second son's birthday; he's 7. He has been so excited all week that sometimes he actually bounces with glee. When this happens, he looks at me and says, "Sorry mom, I'm just sooooo excited" and begins to giggle and jiggle all over again.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of him running around upstairs at 4 something in the morning. By the time I brought him downstairs for breakfast & gifts, I thought his head might just explode. I've got to say, I can't think of any time that I was that excited about anything, especially not getting older.
And now, as my "little guy" stretches taller and leaner, I'm getting the itch for another child. Maybe it's the Saundra Bullock announcement. Maybe it's the fact that my second (and last) child has hit that awkward size when snuggling into your lap becomes more a poking of sharp knees and elbows than a cuddling of rounded baby.
My husband isn't exactly on board with the adoption idea. It isn't that he's cold or uncaring; he's just cheap. Honestly, I don't know what the cost might be but the last time I looked it wasn't pretty. I'm sad and angered by the idea that someone like me -- relatively normal and all -- could long for a child and be deterred by the cost of all things.
Still, this is something I've wanted for a long, long time. Before I was ever married I wanted to adopt a child. Now, with this latest birthday, that longing beat in my heart is picking up speed and impact. I'm not sure what will happen next, but I can say that I've never wanted anything this much and not gotten it. . .
For now, I will focus on the day and the celebration of the beautiful, healthy sons that I have. I will run around like a psycho cleaning only to have the children from the sleepover destroy my efforts in a single night. I will retrieve cupcakes from the local grocery store and deliver them like an angel from sugar heaven to the children in my son's class. But in the recesses of my mind, the wheels are in motion and I can tell you, I feel a plan brewing in the old noggin.
In fitness news,
I struggled this morning in my weight lifting class; the glass of shiraz two nights in a row was ill-advised apparently. Still, 274 calories were knocked out in 55 minutes and I cranked out a set of dead lifts/rows and tricep presses/extensions that I am truly proud of. Oh, and the barbecue chicken sandwiches were a major hit yesterday!
This morning, I woke up to the sound of him running around upstairs at 4 something in the morning. By the time I brought him downstairs for breakfast & gifts, I thought his head might just explode. I've got to say, I can't think of any time that I was that excited about anything, especially not getting older.
And now, as my "little guy" stretches taller and leaner, I'm getting the itch for another child. Maybe it's the Saundra Bullock announcement. Maybe it's the fact that my second (and last) child has hit that awkward size when snuggling into your lap becomes more a poking of sharp knees and elbows than a cuddling of rounded baby.
My husband isn't exactly on board with the adoption idea. It isn't that he's cold or uncaring; he's just cheap. Honestly, I don't know what the cost might be but the last time I looked it wasn't pretty. I'm sad and angered by the idea that someone like me -- relatively normal and all -- could long for a child and be deterred by the cost of all things.
Still, this is something I've wanted for a long, long time. Before I was ever married I wanted to adopt a child. Now, with this latest birthday, that longing beat in my heart is picking up speed and impact. I'm not sure what will happen next, but I can say that I've never wanted anything this much and not gotten it. . .
For now, I will focus on the day and the celebration of the beautiful, healthy sons that I have. I will run around like a psycho cleaning only to have the children from the sleepover destroy my efforts in a single night. I will retrieve cupcakes from the local grocery store and deliver them like an angel from sugar heaven to the children in my son's class. But in the recesses of my mind, the wheels are in motion and I can tell you, I feel a plan brewing in the old noggin.
In fitness news,
I struggled this morning in my weight lifting class; the glass of shiraz two nights in a row was ill-advised apparently. Still, 274 calories were knocked out in 55 minutes and I cranked out a set of dead lifts/rows and tricep presses/extensions that I am truly proud of. Oh, and the barbecue chicken sandwiches were a major hit yesterday!
4.29.2010
Food for Thought
Well, It's Thursday and I'm off to a good start. I ran/walked my 5K route in 00:46 minutes (that's 3 less than yesterday!) and burned 502 cal. The bonus? By getting my heart rate up to over 10 calories burned per minute for so long, I will burn more calories all day, even if I sit on my fanny. Pretty sweet.
I'm still working on a plan for nutrition. It has to be easy, realistic, yummy and easy. I know I mentioned easy twice, but it's very important. Truth be told, I don't even like fast food, but it's easy so I'm tempted.
So far, my master plan for nutrition is being shaped by two pop culture pillars of wisdom: Anton Ego & Quinn.
One aspect of the new approach will be to channel the voice of my favorite (fictional) food critic --Anton Ego from Ratatouille. There's a point when Linguine asks him how a food critic can be so skinny and he replies that if he doesn't love it, he doesn't swallow. I'm thinking that if I don't love it (and loving it will be based on flavor or benefit) I won't eat it.
I'm still working on a plan for nutrition. It has to be easy, realistic, yummy and easy. I know I mentioned easy twice, but it's very important. Truth be told, I don't even like fast food, but it's easy so I'm tempted.
So far, my master plan for nutrition is being shaped by two pop culture pillars of wisdom: Anton Ego & Quinn.
One aspect of the new approach will be to channel the voice of my favorite (fictional) food critic --Anton Ego from Ratatouille. There's a point when Linguine asks him how a food critic can be so skinny and he replies that if he doesn't love it, he doesn't swallow. I'm thinking that if I don't love it (and loving it will be based on flavor or benefit) I won't eat it.
The other night on Glee, Quinn had a moment of tenderness with Mercedes and talked about reframing the idea of nutrition. If you can change the way you eat to give a baby what they need, you should be willing to love yourself enough to do the same. The idea of good nutrition being an act of love -- and specifically of self love -- is really resonating in my mind.
Much of this process of reclaiming fitness, reclaiming my body, has been about re-discovering how much I love myself and feeling brave enough to love myself in visable ways. Who would have thought that loving could be so hard? I spent years figuring out how to love my husband, truly. I spent years learning to love my children, consistently and unconditionally. Now the process is coming full circle and I'm learning to love myself in the same ways.
I'm having to love myself despite flaws in the same way I had to learn to love my husband despite his. I'm having to love myself despite the fact that I can thoroughly disappoint and piss myself off at times, just like with my children.
Ah, but baby steps. . .
Today I just need to get through the challenge of healthy food choices!
I have no intention of eating disgusting things, but I do plan to love myself with food rather than pimp smacking myself with unhealthy choices.
To amend the words of the great Anton Ego, If I don't love it-- and it doesn't love me back -- I won't swallow.
Today, the foods in my home that I love and that love me back are strawberries, chicken, quinoa, lettuce and feta cheese so I'll try to figure out some combination with those in starring roles and others foods playing back up.
I may have to take the dinner scene one day at a time, but for now the plan is to crock pot a little barbecue chicken. Sodium rich, perhaps, but home cooked and you've got to start somewhere!
Until next. . .
I'm having to love myself despite flaws in the same way I had to learn to love my husband despite his. I'm having to love myself despite the fact that I can thoroughly disappoint and piss myself off at times, just like with my children.
Ah, but baby steps. . .
Today I just need to get through the challenge of healthy food choices!
I have no intention of eating disgusting things, but I do plan to love myself with food rather than pimp smacking myself with unhealthy choices.
To amend the words of the great Anton Ego, If I don't love it-- and it doesn't love me back -- I won't swallow.
Today, the foods in my home that I love and that love me back are strawberries, chicken, quinoa, lettuce and feta cheese so I'll try to figure out some combination with those in starring roles and others foods playing back up.
I may have to take the dinner scene one day at a time, but for now the plan is to crock pot a little barbecue chicken. Sodium rich, perhaps, but home cooked and you've got to start somewhere!
Until next. . .
Oh, P.S. Here's what I found in the fridge: left over salmon (6 oz, baked), 1/2 a cup of 5 minute couscous with nutmeg (my friends sister in law puts nutmeg on everything and it's actually really good!) and grapes. Total calories: 566.3; 42.2 g protein, 50.2 g carbs and 21.9 g fat. By the way, my goal is to move that fat content down and push the carbs up, but that will have to come in time!
4.28.2010
Weigh-in Wednesday: Clearly, I'm Delusional
Well, it's weigh-in Wednesday and boy oh boy have I been hit with a little whammy. It's not so much the scale's report: I'm only 0.4 lbs up from last week and still on track for my long term goal. It's what I learned about my program when I entered my weight that woahed me.
It seems that I am logging an average of 1878 calories a day. Which should be cool (albeit suspicious) given that my goal is 2100 a day.
Let me say at this point that I believe myself to be an honest person with a fairly no-nonsense approach to my weight loss program. After all, what, exactly, would be the point of lying? Who, pretell, would I be lying to that wouldn't discover the ruse upon inspection of my rump?
Ah, but lie I have apparently. My little bodybugg system says that based on my measurements, my actual daily average for caloric intake is 2735.
Como se huh?
Yep, that's right. I am seriously missing something. I read the little tutorial that the bodybugg system cues (probably to avert some sort of anxiety attack) and it explained that there is something called caloric amnesia that results in people not recalling what they've actually consumed.
The top three culprits for my "condition" are: (1) large portion sizes like the burrito I inhaled from Chipotle last week that was the size of small child, (2) portion distortion (believing the portion is okay, when in fact it is not) like the amount of cream I actually put into my coffee each morning or the two pats of butter that I slip onto my Nutrigrain waffles, and (3) forgotten items like the Oreos that I scarffed down on Monday night but didn't make their way onto my food chart.
So, there we have it. I suppose the old nutrition will need a massive overhaul afterall. No worries, as always, I have a plan to make a plan and it will be revealed as soon as I figure out what the heck that plan is!
The nutrition factor has been the dangling participle of my weight loss program for a while now and it's time to get a serious grip. I've heard advice from here, there and everywhere and the truth is, nothing is sprucing the old goose.
Despite the best intentions, the truth is that I am never going to stick with something if I don't like it in my heart. It's like dating a dud; at some point the old eyes are gonna wander, so why even set yourself up?
In other news, I learned several very valuable little tidbits of fitness knowledge on my 5K run today that I would love to share with you:
1. Loose-fitting hip hugger underwear are not a good idea when running.
2. Swiss Beats is a genius and "My Chick Bad" will make you run even if you think you have nothing left (you can find it on I-tunes under Ludacris).
3. When in doubt, the telephone pole game always works to get you motivated. Just run from pole to pole, then rest from pole to pole, then repeat. Today I went two pole lengths running and one pole length walking for the last mile of my run.
Today's final 5K stats: 00:49, 501 calories burned.
There it is folks, fitness gold from the delusional calorie counter.
Until next!
It seems that I am logging an average of 1878 calories a day. Which should be cool (albeit suspicious) given that my goal is 2100 a day.
Let me say at this point that I believe myself to be an honest person with a fairly no-nonsense approach to my weight loss program. After all, what, exactly, would be the point of lying? Who, pretell, would I be lying to that wouldn't discover the ruse upon inspection of my rump?
Ah, but lie I have apparently. My little bodybugg system says that based on my measurements, my actual daily average for caloric intake is 2735.
Como se huh?
Yep, that's right. I am seriously missing something. I read the little tutorial that the bodybugg system cues (probably to avert some sort of anxiety attack) and it explained that there is something called caloric amnesia that results in people not recalling what they've actually consumed.
The top three culprits for my "condition" are: (1) large portion sizes like the burrito I inhaled from Chipotle last week that was the size of small child, (2) portion distortion (believing the portion is okay, when in fact it is not) like the amount of cream I actually put into my coffee each morning or the two pats of butter that I slip onto my Nutrigrain waffles, and (3) forgotten items like the Oreos that I scarffed down on Monday night but didn't make their way onto my food chart.
So, there we have it. I suppose the old nutrition will need a massive overhaul afterall. No worries, as always, I have a plan to make a plan and it will be revealed as soon as I figure out what the heck that plan is!
The nutrition factor has been the dangling participle of my weight loss program for a while now and it's time to get a serious grip. I've heard advice from here, there and everywhere and the truth is, nothing is sprucing the old goose.
Despite the best intentions, the truth is that I am never going to stick with something if I don't like it in my heart. It's like dating a dud; at some point the old eyes are gonna wander, so why even set yourself up?
In other news, I learned several very valuable little tidbits of fitness knowledge on my 5K run today that I would love to share with you:
1. Loose-fitting hip hugger underwear are not a good idea when running.
2. Swiss Beats is a genius and "My Chick Bad" will make you run even if you think you have nothing left (you can find it on I-tunes under Ludacris).
3. When in doubt, the telephone pole game always works to get you motivated. Just run from pole to pole, then rest from pole to pole, then repeat. Today I went two pole lengths running and one pole length walking for the last mile of my run.
Today's final 5K stats: 00:49, 501 calories burned.
There it is folks, fitness gold from the delusional calorie counter.
Until next!
4.27.2010
The 5K Journey Begins
So today, it's officially "go time" on my secret master plan (which, by the way, involves me running a 5K). I found my route, laced up my sexy new Ryka shoes (Clemmy still doesn't entirely trust the new shoes), and donned all of my equipment: cell phone & keys in the booty pocket of my pants, bodybugg on left arm, IPOD on right.
I kind of felt like Batman with his utility belts, but I also felt very athletic.
My progress was slow, but respectable. I ran about 35% of the total distance which is waaaaay more than I would have two months ago. I'm not sure if I've mentioned the praises of cross training, but diversifying your fitness activities really makes a difference.
Currently, I'm dancing Zumba for fun and massive calorie burn. I try to get there at least twice a week. I also take yoga twice a week for flexibility, posture, breathing and core strength. Believe it or not, Betty the Meanie (my trainer) "prescribed" yoga and I have been very impressed with the results.
Speaking of Sweaty Betty, I train with her for one hour every two weeks and then one of the work outs she's given me two to three days a week on my own. It works well because one day soon I'll have to cut the cord and apply what I've learned solo!
Every Friday I take a group weight lifting and cardio class that is kind of a fusion between step and circuit training. It's a booty buster!
Sunday's are for Everlast Shadow boxing -- the second highest calorie burner in my week.
For a fun break, there's always Dance Dance Revolution -- a similar calorie burn to jogging or Zumba. This is soooo fun and family friendly because my kids "coach" me as I do it.
I'm not sure why, but cycling (my first love) has fallen by the waste side. I'll probably find my way back, after all, I bought shoes and nothing motivates me like capital outlay.
So back to my 5K training. . . Each of these activities have contributed to my confidence in getting out there on the road. I was out there for about an hour (I never claimed to be fast) and in that time I burned a little over 500 calories and got to listen to a few of my favorite songs.
The best thing? The range of emotion I felt. I was excited, exhausted, terrified (when a guy in a plumbing truck pulled a u-turn next to me -- turned out he missed his street), and complimented (when a few gardners made a comment about the women in rich neighborhoods in Spanish without knowing I understood, yeah Yo intiendo, baby!).
Compared to sitting in a little bubble and eating while I watch television, getting out there and experiencing the gamut of emotion felt absolutely thrilling. I even started thinking about a few characters I'd forgotten I plan to get writing this afternoon.
If you are starting your journey, I'd love to hear from you. If you are further along, I'd love your advice. And if you are taking baby steps with me, holla at ya girl!
4.22.2010
Taking Flight
So today, I have a two-for-one scenario going on. I've posted about my moment of awkwardness that wouldn't end fast enough today at the zoo, but I also am thinking about a more graceful moment that, while fleeting, was as wonderful as the lions were mortifying.
Yesterday, I walked into a class with a new yoga instructor -- I'm in the cheese-moving phase of my fitness cycle -- and I felt a little nervous about my ability to keep up with someone I didn't know.
To make matters worse, the yoga instructor joked with the class that a recent sub left her a note to "go easier" on the class because she was "way too hard." She followed this with I laugh that I thought trilled a little into the wicked witch cackle category, but I could have been imagining things.
Despite my trepidation (justified or not), yesterday I felt a surge of energy. Maybe it was the clip I'd viewed recently on a 91 year old yogini (http://money.cnn.com/video/news/2010/04/12/n_cmr_92_year_old_yoga.cnnmoney/index.html). Maybe it was all the Madonna in the air. I'm not sure. I just wanted to bring my A game in this room full of unintentionally intimidating strangers.
As usual, when I feel uncertain yet want to succeed, my drive got the better of me. I found myself pushing each move a little further than I usually do. I kept my planks tight, my up dog solid, my fingers wide in down dog. My chest was lifted with a grace I rarely bring to my usual class as I reversed some pose I can't remember the name of. I even held a Warrior 3 pose that left me dropping beads of sweat on the floor and then looking around for someone to high five, but it turns out that's more a Zumba thing than a yoga thing.
Then it happened -- when I was so caught up in keeping up that I forgot about what I could not do -- the instructor took us from child pose (a little ball of myself) right into crane and I went! Okay, I held the pose for like 3 seconds and my toes aren't pointed and my butt could be lower but all of these things will come in time. Besides, my regular yoga instructor says if you only hold it for a second, it counts. So I'm counting it baby!
Crane was something I was certain I would never be able to do. Never. And I wouldn't feel bad in the least. For me, it's about the flexibility, the breathing, the balance. At least, it was. Now my goals in yoga a changed a little. That door called opportunity cracked open just a little and I've gone and had myself a peek. I want to know what else my body can do and I have a sneeky suspicion that I will truly be amazed by what I find.
Afternoon Delight?
I chaperoned a zoo field trip for my first grader's class today. We only had about 2 1/2 hours at the zoo, so I asked each child to pick one thing they absolutely had to see.
First picks were the snakes (awesome!) and the komodo dragon (total bust). Then someone said, "The lions!" This was followed by a frenzy of screams for the lions, so after an exciting round of snakes, amphibians and other reptiles, we were off to the lions.
It seemed to take forever as we weaved through rhinos and elephants and other animals that don't do much and smell awful to boot. Then we arrived at the lions who were. . .
wait for it. . .
laying down and yawning.
Nice.
No sooner had I muttered, "What a rip" to myself than I received much, much more than my money's worth. The lioness got up sashayed around and nudged the lion on the rump. Then she walked around and plopped back on the ground.
The lion then stood, stretched, and yawned in that slow long-suffering way that reminded me of an old man listening to his wife's nagging or prattling and he then proceeded to walk over and mount the lioness right there -- in front of God and country, and in front of the little first graders!
I was stunned into stupidity at first, then, my reflex was to avert my eyes -- I mean clearly they needed privacy. But like the lions, I'd forgotten about the children in my awkwardness.
Their confused protests of "What are they doing?" and "Are they fighting?" and "That doesn't look like fighting." shook me out of my temporary loss of mind function.
Think fast.
I announced it was time to get moving -- brilliant, right? Wrong. They protested on the grounds that it took forever just to get here. Umm, umm, I tried to think fast, but I had absolutely nothing.
Then, like a wonderful rainbow in a pragmatic thunderstorm, a single voice rang out.
"They stopped!"
That's right, both lions were now side by side again. The lioness looking unphased, the lion looking bored and moderately put upon.
It was over. The children moved on as they are wont to do. But I, I just felt dirty, and a small part of me spent the rest of the afternoon wishing even now that I could just wash my eyes.
First picks were the snakes (awesome!) and the komodo dragon (total bust). Then someone said, "The lions!" This was followed by a frenzy of screams for the lions, so after an exciting round of snakes, amphibians and other reptiles, we were off to the lions.
It seemed to take forever as we weaved through rhinos and elephants and other animals that don't do much and smell awful to boot. Then we arrived at the lions who were. . .
wait for it. . .
laying down and yawning.
Nice.
No sooner had I muttered, "What a rip" to myself than I received much, much more than my money's worth. The lioness got up sashayed around and nudged the lion on the rump. Then she walked around and plopped back on the ground.
The lion then stood, stretched, and yawned in that slow long-suffering way that reminded me of an old man listening to his wife's nagging or prattling and he then proceeded to walk over and mount the lioness right there -- in front of God and country, and in front of the little first graders!
I was stunned into stupidity at first, then, my reflex was to avert my eyes -- I mean clearly they needed privacy. But like the lions, I'd forgotten about the children in my awkwardness.
Their confused protests of "What are they doing?" and "Are they fighting?" and "That doesn't look like fighting." shook me out of my temporary loss of mind function.
Think fast.
I announced it was time to get moving -- brilliant, right? Wrong. They protested on the grounds that it took forever just to get here. Umm, umm, I tried to think fast, but I had absolutely nothing.
Then, like a wonderful rainbow in a pragmatic thunderstorm, a single voice rang out.
"They stopped!"
That's right, both lions were now side by side again. The lioness looking unphased, the lion looking bored and moderately put upon.
It was over. The children moved on as they are wont to do. But I, I just felt dirty, and a small part of me spent the rest of the afternoon wishing even now that I could just wash my eyes.
4.21.2010
What the ??? Wednesday
Yesterday morning I weighed in and found that I was still dangling around the 10 lb mark rather than the 12 lb mark that I'd hit over the weekend. I was shocked but I couldn't really be appalled given the fact that I'd downed some fairly quality grease, fried, Mexican and fast food combinations. And so I declared today to be What the ??? Wednesday, so named because I would go all out regardless of reason or aching booty and reclaim the two pounds that should have been mine!
I started with a quick 30 minutes of grading essays (only one graded, but I felt like I made a difference). Then I hit the gym for 9:30 Zumba (529 calories burned), followed by half an hour of the 10:30 Yoga class (188 calories burned), and topped off with a delicious 11:30 appointment with Betty the Meanie (228 calories burned).
Needless to say I was delirious by 1 p.m. I worked a "Woo Hoo" scream into conversations with the Blockbuster saleswoman, the delightful Subway sandwich artist and my husband.
By 2:00 I was melting onto the couch with a turkey sub in one hand and a remote in the other watching Glee.
This is when my "What the Heck Are You Thinking Wednesday" went a little south and became a class A "What the French Wednesday".
First, Glee somehow stopped taping before it was over. Grrrr. Then I got a call from a friend asking me if I'd said something. I don't even remember the event, let alone talking about it. But the bigger issue is that this is just such a high school question to ask.
Sure, working out like a psycho to move two pounds in one day is high school.
Working the words "Woo Hoo" into casual conversation is high school.
So is watching Glee I suppose in many ways.
But being asked if I said something? Geez-La-frickin-weez. (Okay, that was a little high school, too).
Truth be told, I don't know if I said something. I doubt it because the issue was news to me. Further, I've been pretty much over gossip since I got a little something called a life about ten years ago. Motherhood, working, finances, dinner, writing, making a marriage work. They all kind of keep me a little preoccupied.
It's hard to remember that I have friends, to remember to say hi and check in given the fact that at times it's been hard to remember to bathe. I can't imagine that I'd use that time to issue a hard diss about someone I love.
So why on earth do I even care? Because I do. Because I am not bigger than stupidity no matter how much I wish I were. Because stupid questions and trivial nonsense still piss me off to no end. And while I acknowledge that it is infinitely better to be pissed off than pissed on, this just kind of put a nappy hump in my otherwise sunny day.
This line of thinking reminded me that today is the first truly beautiful day in about a week. Blue skies, sunshine, cool breezes. Everything I love. And I decided to take a walk out in the sunshine so that I could immerse myself in what matters rather than get bogged down by what doesn't.
You see, I've gained more than just 50 lbs since high school in the almost twenty years since high school I've also gained a little something called perspective. I know what matters and what doesn't. Right now, finding Glee online and catching those last 10 minutes matters. Checking in on how my kids day went (after they actually come inside and pay attention to me) matters. Cooking dinner matters. Even writing this blog matters.
But in the grand scheme of my jam-packed day, I am clear that high school comedy is what I crave, not high school drama.
I started with a quick 30 minutes of grading essays (only one graded, but I felt like I made a difference). Then I hit the gym for 9:30 Zumba (529 calories burned), followed by half an hour of the 10:30 Yoga class (188 calories burned), and topped off with a delicious 11:30 appointment with Betty the Meanie (228 calories burned).
Needless to say I was delirious by 1 p.m. I worked a "Woo Hoo" scream into conversations with the Blockbuster saleswoman, the delightful Subway sandwich artist and my husband.
By 2:00 I was melting onto the couch with a turkey sub in one hand and a remote in the other watching Glee.
This is when my "What the Heck Are You Thinking Wednesday" went a little south and became a class A "What the French Wednesday".
First, Glee somehow stopped taping before it was over. Grrrr. Then I got a call from a friend asking me if I'd said something. I don't even remember the event, let alone talking about it. But the bigger issue is that this is just such a high school question to ask.
Sure, working out like a psycho to move two pounds in one day is high school.
Working the words "Woo Hoo" into casual conversation is high school.
So is watching Glee I suppose in many ways.
But being asked if I said something? Geez-La-frickin-weez. (Okay, that was a little high school, too).
Truth be told, I don't know if I said something. I doubt it because the issue was news to me. Further, I've been pretty much over gossip since I got a little something called a life about ten years ago. Motherhood, working, finances, dinner, writing, making a marriage work. They all kind of keep me a little preoccupied.
It's hard to remember that I have friends, to remember to say hi and check in given the fact that at times it's been hard to remember to bathe. I can't imagine that I'd use that time to issue a hard diss about someone I love.
So why on earth do I even care? Because I do. Because I am not bigger than stupidity no matter how much I wish I were. Because stupid questions and trivial nonsense still piss me off to no end. And while I acknowledge that it is infinitely better to be pissed off than pissed on, this just kind of put a nappy hump in my otherwise sunny day.
This line of thinking reminded me that today is the first truly beautiful day in about a week. Blue skies, sunshine, cool breezes. Everything I love. And I decided to take a walk out in the sunshine so that I could immerse myself in what matters rather than get bogged down by what doesn't.
You see, I've gained more than just 50 lbs since high school in the almost twenty years since high school I've also gained a little something called perspective. I know what matters and what doesn't. Right now, finding Glee online and catching those last 10 minutes matters. Checking in on how my kids day went (after they actually come inside and pay attention to me) matters. Cooking dinner matters. Even writing this blog matters.
But in the grand scheme of my jam-packed day, I am clear that high school comedy is what I crave, not high school drama.
4.20.2010
Fun Fitness Find: Ryka running shoes
So I got a freelancing check & ran to my local Academy to spend the money that was burning a hole in my pocket.
The object of today's trip: new running shoes.
My knees have been absolutely killing me, but that's not the only reason. The other reason is that the universe has been double dog daring me to start running again. It's been about 3 years since I ran consistently and I've actually missed it. Besides, my boobs and I weigh less than we have in a decade so I'm thinking now is as good a time as any!
Beyond that, I read a cool new blog today that follows a woman who took on an impossible goal: competing in a triathalon. At the time, she was 50 lbs overweight and couldn't run for longer than a minute. She wasn't much more than a survivalist when it came to swimming and biking was a non-issue.
Still, she did it and got fit in the process! You can read more on her journey at http://sistastritoo.blogspot.com/
I'm not sure if I'm ready for a triathalon, but I'm itching to do something crazy like a 5K.
So that brings me to my fun fitness find for the day, the Ryka running shoe. This is the shoe that Kelly "OMG girl - you are waaaay too skinny" Ripa endorses. I have to say that this was one strike against the shoe. The very idea of drawing up like an athletic crackhead has never sounded like fun. To make matters worse, my tatas have been shrinking at an alarming rate and the last image I needed to associate myself with is Ripa.
To make matters worse, the shoes are orange and yellow. Seriously? Would it kill them to give me a little pink, green or purple? Orange and yellow undermines my entire fitness wardrobe color palette.
However, today was shopping day and when I shop, I honor Stacy & Clinton, the patron saints of shopping, by trying on everything and letting my body decide. Today I tried on 7 pairs of running shoes including no-fail Saucony's, Brooks and sometimes-narrow Nikes and the Ryka Revives were undeniably the best fit. At $54, they were also one of the lowest priced shoes so now, they are mine.
Stay tuned for more adventures from this latest chapter in my fitness journey!
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