Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Rehab - Update
Just realized...I claimed no bacon had entered the picture. Duh! What is the best part of a club? THE BACON! GAH!
Rehab
It's been a bad week, well WW and workout wise. I haven't tracked my food since last Friday, haven't been to the gym since last Thursday. My water consumption has been sketchy and my energy levels are low.
Let's turn back the clock, shall we?
I decided last Friday I needed a mini-break, both from WW and the gym, in light of my milestone 40+ pound weight loss. Fabulous...no problem, right? Take two days off, back on track. Yeah, not so much. Two days off became three, three became four and here we are, Wednesday, six days out.
I'm not where I was six months ago. I've had french fries, my culinary nirvana, twice in those six days, where six months ago it was twice a day. I haven't been all bad. No bacon has entered the picture.
As an example, today I had oatmeal (not measured) from the cafeteria with cinnamon and some brown sugar. Lunch was a turkey club (with cheese) on a semolina roll, no mayo, a few chips and I only ate 2/3 of the sandwich. Dinner was actually WW friendly - whole wheat pasta, grilled chicken, mushrooms. The past few days have been same - 2 out of three meals ok'ish, one misdemeanor bad.
To be honest, I'm lost and a little scared that I'm slipping. I've been down this road before - just a few days off becomes a week, a week becomes a month.
I don't have a good excuse for not being on program. Nobody's died, I'm not away and on a real vacation. I just didn't "want to" this week - I didn't want to sweat, having to wash and dry my hair, forcing it into a style and spending a half an hour planning and measuring food for the next day. I didn't want to come home late from work to two irate dogs. I just didn't want to.
But who the hell wants to do any of that? I'm pretty sure, if you're being honest, you don't want to. I resent having to. I resent having a shitty metabolism (because of my own doing). I resent being short (love you mom!). I resent loving carbs and not grilled salmon.
Tomorrow is a new day. Who cares if the WW week is just about over. I'm resigning myself to a gain on Friday. Tomorrow isn't about mitigating damage, it's about getting back into the routine. Next week isn't going to be much better (work dinner on Monday, so no gym; all day meeting on Tuesday with a late finish time, so again, probably no gym).
It's a marathon, not a sprint. I'm not a marathon runner, and unfortunately since this isn't a relay (and therefore I can't ask somebody to run a leg for me), please do the next best thing. Cheer for me. Send me positive vibes. Lift me up on Friday so I'm not too heavy on the scale.
Let's turn back the clock, shall we?
I decided last Friday I needed a mini-break, both from WW and the gym, in light of my milestone 40+ pound weight loss. Fabulous...no problem, right? Take two days off, back on track. Yeah, not so much. Two days off became three, three became four and here we are, Wednesday, six days out.
I'm not where I was six months ago. I've had french fries, my culinary nirvana, twice in those six days, where six months ago it was twice a day. I haven't been all bad. No bacon has entered the picture.
As an example, today I had oatmeal (not measured) from the cafeteria with cinnamon and some brown sugar. Lunch was a turkey club (with cheese) on a semolina roll, no mayo, a few chips and I only ate 2/3 of the sandwich. Dinner was actually WW friendly - whole wheat pasta, grilled chicken, mushrooms. The past few days have been same - 2 out of three meals ok'ish, one misdemeanor bad.
To be honest, I'm lost and a little scared that I'm slipping. I've been down this road before - just a few days off becomes a week, a week becomes a month.
I don't have a good excuse for not being on program. Nobody's died, I'm not away and on a real vacation. I just didn't "want to" this week - I didn't want to sweat, having to wash and dry my hair, forcing it into a style and spending a half an hour planning and measuring food for the next day. I didn't want to come home late from work to two irate dogs. I just didn't want to.
But who the hell wants to do any of that? I'm pretty sure, if you're being honest, you don't want to. I resent having to. I resent having a shitty metabolism (because of my own doing). I resent being short (love you mom!). I resent loving carbs and not grilled salmon.
Tomorrow is a new day. Who cares if the WW week is just about over. I'm resigning myself to a gain on Friday. Tomorrow isn't about mitigating damage, it's about getting back into the routine. Next week isn't going to be much better (work dinner on Monday, so no gym; all day meeting on Tuesday with a late finish time, so again, probably no gym).
It's a marathon, not a sprint. I'm not a marathon runner, and unfortunately since this isn't a relay (and therefore I can't ask somebody to run a leg for me), please do the next best thing. Cheer for me. Send me positive vibes. Lift me up on Friday so I'm not too heavy on the scale.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Live on TV
I feel like my experience with live television has only been tragedies.
As a child, I watched the explosion of Challenger, I saw Bud Dwyer kill himself during a televised press conference on a snow day, and as a young adult, I watched the Twin Towers collapse in real time.
Tonight I got to watch a miracle.
It’s not over yet, but I’m hopeful.
I was going to go to bed at a reasonable time, but decided to get an update on the rescue of the Chilean miners before I went to bed.
Between Anderson Cooper and Facebook, I got sucked in, and I’m glad I did. I got to see the rescuer make it down the mine, and saw the first miner, Florencio Avalos, get into the rescue capsule and make his way back to the surface while it was happening. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried when I saw him hug his son.
I’m praying that the remaining 32 miners make their way back up safely, and I’m thankful that I am able to make a living in a field that doesn’t put my life at risk.
Please keep the miners in Chile, and the rescue workers, in your prayers. They’re in mine.
As a child, I watched the explosion of Challenger, I saw Bud Dwyer kill himself during a televised press conference on a snow day, and as a young adult, I watched the Twin Towers collapse in real time.
Tonight I got to watch a miracle.
It’s not over yet, but I’m hopeful.
I was going to go to bed at a reasonable time, but decided to get an update on the rescue of the Chilean miners before I went to bed.
Between Anderson Cooper and Facebook, I got sucked in, and I’m glad I did. I got to see the rescuer make it down the mine, and saw the first miner, Florencio Avalos, get into the rescue capsule and make his way back to the surface while it was happening. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried when I saw him hug his son.
I’m praying that the remaining 32 miners make their way back up safely, and I’m thankful that I am able to make a living in a field that doesn’t put my life at risk.
Please keep the miners in Chile, and the rescue workers, in your prayers. They’re in mine.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Bullies Suck
There’s been a great deal of attention in the media about the epidemic of bullies these days. Last year there was the story of Phoebie Prince, age 15 who killed herself because of bullies at her new school and recently there are the suicides of Billy Lucas, age 15; Cody Barker, age 17; Seth Walsh, age 13; Tyler Clementi, age 18; Asher Brown, age 13; Harrison Brown, age 15; Raymond Chase, age 19; Felix Sacco, age 17; and Caleb Nolt, age 14 - all in September 2010.
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I found myself the odd girl out when I was 13. I’m still not sure what I did, but one Monday I came to school and found myself on the outside and being the butt of jokes. The hurt still stings, I can still remember coming home from school, locking myself in the kitchen, turning on the soap opera One Life to Live and crying while ramming Oreo cookies in my mouth (the soap opera was so there would be an excuse if I was caught crying). My family knew what was going on, but still I tried to conceal the pain. Since that point, I’ve always thought of myself as a dork, and particularly cautious with people outside of my family. To this day, irrational though it may be, if I hear groups of people laughing (especially females), I assume they are laughing about me – oh the ego.
At that time, I went to bed wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next day. I didn’t actively think about suicide; I still planned to become a lawyer, marry Michael J. Fox, move to Connecticut and drive a Porsche. I just wanted to sleep through the rough years and come out on the other side OK. Funny that I still want the same thing now (i.e. weight loss – just put me in a coma, help me lose the weight painlessly, and wake me up when it’s over). Even at 35 (going on 36) I don’t want to go through the growing pains that shape you.
If I could go back in time and talk to my 13 year old self, I’m sure she would think I was crazy. I’d tell that overweight, extremely busty girl that it would turn out OK – oh, and that flat, straight hair would be just A-OK. The boobs would be reduced, that while we’d always struggle with our weight, there was a way out, and that two of the girls that I thought of as my chief tormentors would turn out to be two of my best friends - I’d look forward to hanging out with them, we’d commiserate about the rough times, and turn to each other now in the bad times.
I’d tell her that it gets better.
While I’m not gay, and have never been bullied because of my sexuality, I was bullied because of things out of my control. I feel like I can relate on some small level to Phoebe, Billy, Cody, Seth, Tyler, Asher, Harrison, Raymond, Felix and Caleb. While my private life wasn’t broadcast on the internet, my sexuality wasn’t being mocked or questioned, I wasn’t being beat up or called a slut, I felt like I had lost my world. My friends were gone, I felt I was alone and the butt of the jokes. In a word, it sucked.
I’m glad I didn’t check out. I’m glad I didn’t go into the “magic coma” of my fantasies, because the pain I went through in my teen years has made me a more compassionate person today. I want to sit the people down who made the lives of these teenagers a living hell and explain to them what it will be like in future years; that they won’t always be on top; that Karma is a bitch. But mostly I want to talk to the kids who have decided that suicide was the answer. I want to give them a hug, some words of reassurance.
I want to tell them that it does get better.
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I found myself the odd girl out when I was 13. I’m still not sure what I did, but one Monday I came to school and found myself on the outside and being the butt of jokes. The hurt still stings, I can still remember coming home from school, locking myself in the kitchen, turning on the soap opera One Life to Live and crying while ramming Oreo cookies in my mouth (the soap opera was so there would be an excuse if I was caught crying). My family knew what was going on, but still I tried to conceal the pain. Since that point, I’ve always thought of myself as a dork, and particularly cautious with people outside of my family. To this day, irrational though it may be, if I hear groups of people laughing (especially females), I assume they are laughing about me – oh the ego.
At that time, I went to bed wishing I wouldn’t wake up the next day. I didn’t actively think about suicide; I still planned to become a lawyer, marry Michael J. Fox, move to Connecticut and drive a Porsche. I just wanted to sleep through the rough years and come out on the other side OK. Funny that I still want the same thing now (i.e. weight loss – just put me in a coma, help me lose the weight painlessly, and wake me up when it’s over). Even at 35 (going on 36) I don’t want to go through the growing pains that shape you.
If I could go back in time and talk to my 13 year old self, I’m sure she would think I was crazy. I’d tell that overweight, extremely busty girl that it would turn out OK – oh, and that flat, straight hair would be just A-OK. The boobs would be reduced, that while we’d always struggle with our weight, there was a way out, and that two of the girls that I thought of as my chief tormentors would turn out to be two of my best friends - I’d look forward to hanging out with them, we’d commiserate about the rough times, and turn to each other now in the bad times.
I’d tell her that it gets better.
While I’m not gay, and have never been bullied because of my sexuality, I was bullied because of things out of my control. I feel like I can relate on some small level to Phoebe, Billy, Cody, Seth, Tyler, Asher, Harrison, Raymond, Felix and Caleb. While my private life wasn’t broadcast on the internet, my sexuality wasn’t being mocked or questioned, I wasn’t being beat up or called a slut, I felt like I had lost my world. My friends were gone, I felt I was alone and the butt of the jokes. In a word, it sucked.
I’m glad I didn’t check out. I’m glad I didn’t go into the “magic coma” of my fantasies, because the pain I went through in my teen years has made me a more compassionate person today. I want to sit the people down who made the lives of these teenagers a living hell and explain to them what it will be like in future years; that they won’t always be on top; that Karma is a bitch. But mostly I want to talk to the kids who have decided that suicide was the answer. I want to give them a hug, some words of reassurance.
I want to tell them that it does get better.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Signs
I was driving to my spinning class yesterday when I saw the signs – no parking on Harding Blvd, a relatively flat stretch of road near the Elmwood Park Zoo, for a 5k today. No other information – just your standard police “no parking” signs.
The weather has been refreshingly fall like, the weather for today was forecasted to be good, and I haven’t done anything stupid in at least a week. I Googled 5k, Norristown, October 3 and found the information on the race. I’m still in the beginning stages of my training for the 5k I’m signed up for in November, I can’t run more than one mile before having to stop and take a breather, and I haven’t run 3 consecutive miles without having to stop and dry heave in over 3 years. That would have stopped a sane person. As a reader of my blog, you should know by now that I’m far from sane.
I posted on Facebook that I was thinking about it. Got a helpful tip from my neighbor that half a case of Guinness would help for carbo loading, which I dismissed in favor of some whole wheat Pasta. I charged my iPod, organized my gear and went to bed early.
I got up at 7:00 am this morning, threw on my racing running shorts (size L – a little snug, but no seams tore), laced up my sneakers and was at the Zoo for registration. It was cold and I was surrounded by 80 year olds wearing multiple layers asking me if I was cold, athletic looking stick insects wearing tank tops and children who I knew would kick my butt.
At 9:00 the starting horn blared and I started. I decided at the outset that I wasn’t going to even try to keep up with the pack – I was competing against myself. I didn’t even check my time until the last half mile. I knew I wasn’t going to be in the hunt as far as being in the top for my age group, I just wanted to finish.
I made it to the 1.25 mile mark before I need to walk. I alternated for the rest of the race. Run for as long as I can, walk for a few steps. The course was flat until the halfway point, a pretty steep hill approaching Johnson Highway. I scared the crap out the kid in front of me – huffing and puffing up the hill. I’m sure I sounded like I was in a bad porno. The hill going down was a relief, and went past the zoo for the second loop on Harding Blvd - then it hit me – the smell.
There are donkeys and buffalo (bison?) that are housed right near the street. During the summer I roll up my windows when I drive past. They are fragrant to say the least, even on a 50 degree morning. At least it provided motivation to push myself to get past the enclosure as fast I could.
I did the second loop and was in the home stretch. That’s when I started talking to myself. Hey, I was in Norristown – I’m sure the people on the route just thought I was an escapee from the local mental hospital. Then the 7 year old participating in his very first 5k with his dad blazed past me. I was very conscious at that point that my encouragement to myself was mostly curse words. Oh well, he was bound to learn them sooner or later.
Then I went past the donkey enclosure. Would this be the bonk point? Nope…pushed forward and sprinted to the finish line.
I didn’t finish last, but was definitely in the back of the pack. And that’s fine by me. I finished in a respectable time – 36 minutes, 42 seconds (according to my Nike Plus sensor). I’m feeling more confident about the November 14 race –especially since I’ve got time to do more prep work.
I had another triumph today when I went to the mall. Yesterday I found my jeans were getting stupid big – I sucked in my stomach and they came dangerously close to falling down. I’m not complaining. I went to Old Navy – grabbed a few different styles in size 18 – the largest size they had in a short length. Not only did they fit, they were big! I got a size 16, and went to get a hard earned slice of pizza and shared some fries for lunch with mom. We then went down to NY & Co – feeling cocky I grabbed two pair of pants – 18 petite and 16 petite. The 18s fit – perfectly. I’m not there yet with the tops, but soon enough. Now I have even more motivation to keep going!
The weather has been refreshingly fall like, the weather for today was forecasted to be good, and I haven’t done anything stupid in at least a week. I Googled 5k, Norristown, October 3 and found the information on the race. I’m still in the beginning stages of my training for the 5k I’m signed up for in November, I can’t run more than one mile before having to stop and take a breather, and I haven’t run 3 consecutive miles without having to stop and dry heave in over 3 years. That would have stopped a sane person. As a reader of my blog, you should know by now that I’m far from sane.
I posted on Facebook that I was thinking about it. Got a helpful tip from my neighbor that half a case of Guinness would help for carbo loading, which I dismissed in favor of some whole wheat Pasta. I charged my iPod, organized my gear and went to bed early.
I got up at 7:00 am this morning, threw on my racing running shorts (size L – a little snug, but no seams tore), laced up my sneakers and was at the Zoo for registration. It was cold and I was surrounded by 80 year olds wearing multiple layers asking me if I was cold, athletic looking stick insects wearing tank tops and children who I knew would kick my butt.
At 9:00 the starting horn blared and I started. I decided at the outset that I wasn’t going to even try to keep up with the pack – I was competing against myself. I didn’t even check my time until the last half mile. I knew I wasn’t going to be in the hunt as far as being in the top for my age group, I just wanted to finish.
I made it to the 1.25 mile mark before I need to walk. I alternated for the rest of the race. Run for as long as I can, walk for a few steps. The course was flat until the halfway point, a pretty steep hill approaching Johnson Highway. I scared the crap out the kid in front of me – huffing and puffing up the hill. I’m sure I sounded like I was in a bad porno. The hill going down was a relief, and went past the zoo for the second loop on Harding Blvd - then it hit me – the smell.
There are donkeys and buffalo (bison?) that are housed right near the street. During the summer I roll up my windows when I drive past. They are fragrant to say the least, even on a 50 degree morning. At least it provided motivation to push myself to get past the enclosure as fast I could.
I did the second loop and was in the home stretch. That’s when I started talking to myself. Hey, I was in Norristown – I’m sure the people on the route just thought I was an escapee from the local mental hospital. Then the 7 year old participating in his very first 5k with his dad blazed past me. I was very conscious at that point that my encouragement to myself was mostly curse words. Oh well, he was bound to learn them sooner or later.
Then I went past the donkey enclosure. Would this be the bonk point? Nope…pushed forward and sprinted to the finish line.
I didn’t finish last, but was definitely in the back of the pack. And that’s fine by me. I finished in a respectable time – 36 minutes, 42 seconds (according to my Nike Plus sensor). I’m feeling more confident about the November 14 race –especially since I’ve got time to do more prep work.
I had another triumph today when I went to the mall. Yesterday I found my jeans were getting stupid big – I sucked in my stomach and they came dangerously close to falling down. I’m not complaining. I went to Old Navy – grabbed a few different styles in size 18 – the largest size they had in a short length. Not only did they fit, they were big! I got a size 16, and went to get a hard earned slice of pizza and shared some fries for lunch with mom. We then went down to NY & Co – feeling cocky I grabbed two pair of pants – 18 petite and 16 petite. The 18s fit – perfectly. I’m not there yet with the tops, but soon enough. Now I have even more motivation to keep going!
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