Where to Begin?

It’s been a while and have been way to busy and scattered to write a blog entry.

Had a birthday – turned 37 on the 10th of November. Difficult to believe I’ll soon be 40, but time marches on. In some ways I’m proud of what I’m accomplished, but in others, frustrated on how far I’ve yet to go. I guess we all have these issues.

I ran my first half marathon, and it was nothing short of awesome. At the time I started training I thought it would be a one and done, but now I can’t wait to run my next, so I’m keeping up the training, running 7.5 miles every other day or so along with the weight and interval training. I’m torn between a half that happens in Philly in September, or the one I ran this year in November. I’ll (try) to keep you posted!

Work has been hectic, between working two jobs. I’ve finally had my first day off since the day after Thanksgiving. Working retail again for the holidays has been interesting to say the least. I’m paid well for the position I’m currently in, and am grateful for it. Minimum wage is way too low for what the average retail worker has to endure year round, not to mention during the holidays. It’s good to get a reminder from time to time – I high recommend everybody work in a retail employee’s shoes at least once in their lives. Perhaps we’d all be a bit kinder and more understanding. At least that’s my two cents.

Time is short with Christmas a week away. Wishing you all well and hope to write more consistently going forward!

Where In the World is Beth?

Not hanging out with Carmen Sandiego…or Matt Lauer for that matter.

Some of you know the drill by now…lots of updates, then silence. Usually that silence means I’ve either (a) seen something shiny or (b) am in a rut and don’t feel like being a Debbie Downer. This time is a combination of both.

The something shiny – my new part time job (catch up: working as a makeup artist for a cosmetics chain, going from store to store when events are being held). I have to say that despite my attack of the nerves, it’s going really well! I was terrified the first day driving in. Would the other kids be nice? What would the customers be like? Would I be able to get the hang of things fast?

Answers: The other kids were beyond nice, they were so kind and embracing of this new kid, not only at the first store I worked at, but at the all of the other stores since. The customers, for the most part, are like most – it’s the old 95%/5% rule – 95% are terrific, but you remember the 5% that are more trying. I try really hard to remember the 95% and remember that everybody has a bad day. As for getting the hang of things, “Fake it Until You Make it” has been my motto when I’m feeling less than confident, but most of the time, I’m feeling good.

As for the rut – well, I’m afraid to say I’ve been up and down. As most of you know, I struggle, like many, with depression and take a daily medication to treat the symptoms. I’m not ashamed, and I don’t shy away from talking about – if I was diabetic and had to take insulin, I’d be honest about it. I have a condition that I’ve struggled with ever since I can remember, and I need to take a pill to be at my best. Unfortunately, from time to time, I need to have that medication tweaked, and sometimes it takes me a little while to realize it. This was one of those times.

I’ve also struggled with my maintenance – a week or two OP, then a week full-fledged off. I’m working on balance, not depriving myself and forgiving the weeks when I’m not OP or working out as hard as I know I can.

I think I have the depression under control at the moment (thanks to a new med and a $95 co-pay), and while I’ve put on a few pounds, I’m still about five pounds under my goal weight, which I’ve been at for over six months now.

My half-marathon training took a little bit of a setback when I got an infection in the nailbed around one of my toes, but I’m optimistic that I’ll be able to run most of it. My philosophy now is that I want to finish, it doesn’t have to be pretty, but I want to cross that finish line under my own power, even if it’s crawling on my hands and knees.

Working the next couple of days, but hoping to stay on track and get in some good workouts.

In closing, I read this today, courtesy of Karina Smirnoff of Dancing With the Stars via her partner J.R. Martinez, and I wanted to share it – “Failure is not falling down but refusing to get up”. My days of falling down may not be over, but my days of refusing to get ups are.

Back to Square One

I cannot believe how spectacularly I let the wheels fall off this week. I know I’ve said it before, but I really mean it this time.

Since Saturday, which was the last time I did any kind of intense exercise, I have eaten like the Beth of old, although I have not allowed myself French fries or pizza. The only workout I’ve gotten in was a session with my trainer last night and a 15 minute walk on the treadmill before that. And my ass was dragging.

I’ve had doughnuts, bagels, white bread, peanut butter, soft pretzels, bacon (although only once), ice cream (both full fat and low fat), cake, 2 mozzarella sticks (only 2) and Lord knows what else.

Why? I’ve been depressed, some of it relating to my own stupid issues (feeling awkward in public, being single, daddy issues), some of it due to 9/11 anniversary over-load. I also had the stress of starting a new part-time job and feeling nervious, and also just not giving a damn.

Now I’ve got weigh in coming in tomorrow, and I’m again going to have a gain. I know I’m still under goal weight, and heck, I think I even weigh less than I did at the beginning of the summer, but it’s still difficult to see the scale creep up. I also feel bloated and my stomach feels pouchy.

I feel like I’ve become a poster child, one that I’ve secretly enjoyed, for weight loss, but feel some stress from from it as well. I know I need to keep the weight off for me, and I do, but I also feel like I will have let people down yet again if I gain the weight back, or worse, just fulfilled the expectations of those who are waiting for me to gain the weight back.

I need to strip all of that away, and remember what got me started in the first place – not being happy with how I looked or felt. Wanting to do things, like run, that I couldn’t do at 230 pounds.

I feel sluggish today – the garbage I’ve been eating is filtering through my system, dragging me down from an energy perspective, and I know that is affecting my mood.

I know I can do this, and I can do it for more than one week at a time. It’s time to stop acting like an idiot and do the right thing. So, I’m going to wrap up this blog entry, eat lunch in about an hour, and then hit the treadmill. Maybe not a run, get in a good walk. I need to stop growing roots to the chair and get back to basics.

Time to grab that rope, tie a knot at the end of it, and hold on.

Two Blogs in One Day...What the What???

Don't get excited...this is an easy one. Just because I can, I thought I'd share my playlist from Saturday. I love hearing what other people listen to on their runs and workouts, and am always on the hunt for new music. Please share yours with me!

Opening Song: Remember The Name - Fort Minor (if you run, bike, whatever - just listen to it - seriously - you'll love it)

You Had Me From Hell No - John Rich/Lil John (nice mix - Country/Rap, good for a sprint - definately helped on Saturday)

Scream If You Wanna Go Faster - Geri Halliwell (who doesn't want to go faster during a race?)

Because We Can - Fatboy Slim (From Moulin Rouge - the chorus - We Can! Can! Can!)

Don't Turn Out the Lights - NKOTBSB (yep, New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys - loved them then (well, NKOTB at least), still love them now)

Hung Up (Remix) - Madonna (those who run seem to have all the fun)

Born This Way - Lady Gaga (Need I Say More?)

And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going (Remix) - Jennifer Hudson

A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Vs. JXL (side story - was inspired by the story of Edison Pena, one of the miners trapped in Chile this time last year. He is a runner and huge Elvis fan. He ran every day while trapped in the mine, while wearing construction boots he retrofitted so he could run. Once he was freed, he ran the NYC Marathon with a bum knee. At the time I added this, last November, I was inspired by his story. I still am)

I Disappear - Metallica (I call it "The Fat Albert Song", but I'm dating myself. The opening line is "Hey, Hey, Hey" Those of you over 30 will get it!)

Sexy! No, No, No... - Girls Aloud (British Girl Band - no back story - just a good pacing song)

Bale Out - RevoLucian - Profanity laden song mixed by a DJ who loved Christian Bale's freakout on the set of Terminator 2. I tend to chant this at the end of a run, thus freaking people out, I'm sure (Am I gonna quit? No, no, fuck no!) It's a good "wall song".

I Fell, I Ran, It Was Awesome

Did you ever have one of those dreams where you find yourself in some kind of public situation doing something stupid? Like being naked while making a presentation, or showing up at the royal wedding in cut-offs and a trucker cap?

How about pratt falling at the starting line of a race with a couple thousand participants? And that fall, graceful and gazelle like, being captured by a local news camera, and seen by at least one person who knows you? Oh, and it’s not a dream.

Yep, that happened to me on Saturday at the LIVESTRONG 10k in Blue Bell.

Here’s the story….

As most of you know, and I’m planning to forward this to some sponsor’s who don’t follow my blog, so bear with me. I’ve shed upwards of 95 pounds over the course of about 13 months now. I’ve been following Weight Watchers and exercising, and part of that exercising is running. Last fall, while still losing, I ran in two 5ks, slowly, but I ran and I finished. In January, shortly after New Year’s Eve, I decided to set a goal for myself – a big one – as part of my continuing education so to speak. Maintenance is a tough part of weight loss, and I refuse to let it be my downfall this time. So, I’ve signed up for the half at the Philadelphia Marathon this coming November. Up until this past January, I had never run more than 3.1 miles at a clip, and for those of you not in the know, a half marathon is 13.1 miles, so I knew I had some work to do.

Over the past few months, I’ve worked on increasing my runs. I’m thrilled that I’m up to 9 miles at this point, and have been actively looking for 10k races so I can get more experience. When I saw the LIVESTRONG organization was holding a 10k practically in my backyard, I signed up.

Given the cause, I reached out to ask for donations – cancer has affected way too many people in my life, although I’ve been fortunate enough not to lose anybody in my family. A classmate died a few years ago from lung cancer, and many friends have lost loved ones because of this horrid disease. I was able to raise just over $200 toward cancer research and support.



I asked my sponsors to let me know who they were donating in memory or in honor of, and I had their names on a paper pinned on my back. As I stood at the finish line, I was in awe of the people wearing Survivor shirts. On any given day, I can come up with some pretty good excuses not to run – I’m pretty sure cancer would have me throwing in the towel. That these people were running 6.2 miles is pretty incredible.

I somehow wound up toward the front of the pack as we lined up, but I was ok with it. Some of the guys were rammy, but eh, I figured it was part of getting pumped up. They counted down, yelled go and the air horn sounded. I started off while pressing “RUN” on my running monitor and play on my iPod.

Then it happened.

I felt myself falling. It was fast and furious. I knew I couldn’t right myself. I landed on my elbow (I had a water bottle strapped to that hand), knee and palm. The lid of my water bottle flew off. I was disoriented. I do recall some kind people lifting me up. Not knowing what else to do, I ran. I didn’t want to get in any more peoples way than I already had, but honestly my first thought was “That’s it…you’re done. Turn around and go home”. Then I saw her - a Survivor wearing a head scarf – the trademark of someone who had lost her hair in treatment.

Pardon the language here, but then I thought “Beth you asshole, you skinned your knee (I hadn’t felt the elbow yet). These people have had or may even still have cancer. Run you jackass.”

So I did. The Survivors were inspiring – especially the ones who passed right by me. Thinking about the loved ones of my sponsors carried me through. I’m sure many of them fell during treatment, literally or metaphorically. I’m sure they wanted to stop, but they didn’t have that choice. They had to continue.

Despite my start, I actually had a great run. I’m thinking the adrenaline had a lot to do with it. The last mile was rough, but I ran across the finish line in just under 50 minutes, with an average 7:42 minute mile.

I’ll be back next year and plan to stay vertical the entire race. I hope some of you will join me and will be as inspired as I was.

Side note: my father got home from golf yesterday – he told me that one of our old neighbors saw me on TV. I said, oh the race? He said, no, you falling. Sweet. Oh, and to quote my friend J – “That is such a Beth thing to do”.

Moving Forward

I feel like I owe an update from Tuesday's post.

First of all, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everybody - those of you who I asked for help, those of you reached out and those of you have supported me from afar.

The past few days have been better - not great, but better. I am in a better place than I was on Monday I'm happy to report.

The payday loan consolidation business is still ongoing...at least one company is still emailing and calling (thus freaking me out) while the negotiation process proceeds, but each day gets a little better. I'm really trying to hold onto this feeling, this moment, so I remember to never allow myself to get in this situation again.

Dodging phone calls, asking to borrow money from friends and family is not pleasant. It's actually humiliating, but I'm trying to work through this as a learning process.

My part-time gig is coming together, and I'm really excited about it. Not going into names, but it's as a freelance consultant for a cosmetics company. I'll be going to different department stores in the area when they have events (product launch, GWP, PWP or other events) and working directly with customers and helping with their skin care and make up needs and concerns so the regular staff can focus on their normal business. I love playing with makeup - I have a brush roll that even I think is a bit over the top (see: shopping, impulse control issues) so I think this will be a great fit for me. It will be feast or famine as far as hours, but I think that may be a good thing, and one of my friends does the scheduling, so no chance of being overworked or abused. I just need to leave the debit card at home when I work so no temptation of spending while in the belly of the beast.

Food and stuff, well, it's always going to be an ongoing process, isn't it? I binged over the weekend, mostly due to stress, but on some level, I frankly wanted to eat what I wanted to eat, as much as I wanted to eat, when I wanted to eat it. I have gotten my workouts back on track - and I'm happy to say that I'm also gradually cutting down. I still do a hardcore workout (and by hardcore I mean a 60 to 75 minute high intensity cardio like the stair master or a run) 5 or 6 days a week, and I still work with my trainer twice a week (thank you dad for that "scholarship"), but I'm not doing the double hardcore like I was some days and I'm giving myself a day off.

Weigh in may not be what I want it to be this week, but that's life. I had a hard week, I also got my period (hello! TMI!) and crying only burns so many calories. I need to not only accept, but embrace the fact that weight is variable - that it will fluctuate regardless of what I eat or do. Even if I gain 5 pounds, I can lose it, and I'm no where near my heaviest weight.

I'm trying to embrace the credo of Be Kind To Yourself. I had a therapist who said this to me, and at the time, I frankly thought it was b/s, but now I'm seeing the reality of it.

So there it is, the latest update. BTW, running in my first 10k this Saturday for LIVESTRONG (here's a another plug - if you can and want to donate, here's the link to my fundraising page: http://philly2011.livestrong.org/bethina74). Fingers crossed the weather holds out and it will be a great run for a great cause.

Yesterday

I hate Mondays. Not to be cliché, but they never really have been my favorite day. As a kid, before I got on anti-anxiety medication, Sunday was the day of the butterflies fluttering about my stomach, nervous as hell for the week ahead. I didn’t go to school in a gulag, although Catholic School did seem like a military prison at times. But Sunday, for whatever reason, filled me the dread of not knowing what was to come, or dreading what I knew was to come – a test, a paper or dealing with things I didn’t want to deal with.

Yesterday was the prime example of why Mondays suck. My work day started with waking up in a blind panic, having overslept and missing my workout, which is as important as my coffee anymore to getting the day started right. I proceeded on my way to work, realized halfway there I didn’t grab a fresh sports water bottle for the gym. I had a partial left over (don’t gross out- I was going to empty it and rinse it when I got to work) that I threw in my purse when I got out of my car.

I put my purse down, and realized to my horror that the water bottle, which was about ¾ full, was now empty. As in 0 water left in the bottle, and the contents pooled in the bottom of my purse. Direct on top of my iPod, check book, pressed powder compact, etc.

On the bright side, my purse got a long overdue cleaning out, literally for the surviving contents, physically for the stuff I had to toss. My iPod is currently hiding in a vat of rice and I’m hoping for a recovery.

The rest of the day went downhill, and it went downhill quickly.

As I mentioned, I did some dumb stuff financially. There are reasons for it, reasons I need to talk to a professional type person about, which is going to cost more money, but things I need to deal with. Somewhere around 3:30, I panicked, and realized that once I paid my car payment, car insurance and gym (which requires a 30 day cancellation notice if I were to cancel) I was going to be seriously overdrawn. Forget the fact that it’s the middle of the month and I don’t get an infusion of cash for another 2+ weeks.

I reached out to some people for help, which thankfully came through, while I’m getting affairs in order (selling things I no longer need and use, getting a part time job) but essentially ended my day sitting at my sister’s island in her kitchen sobbing like I haven’t in a long time.

I’ve come to the realization that there is shit I haven’t dealt with, and haven’t wanted to deal with, for a long time. I’ve been dealing with it any way except actually dealing with it or feeling the emotion – up until a year ago, eating (thereby stuffing the feelings away), now running (actually running away from my problems) and other times, shopping. It’s all been about avoiding feelings I’d rather not deal with, rather not feel – loneliness, low self esteem, and in some ways, anger.

The shopping that needs to stop. I won’t go into the psychology of it here, but suffice it to say, I need to deal with it, and retail is not the answer. I’m getting that under control, and trying really hard to pay off the debts I’ve incurred.

Some real life changes are also in order. I haven’t really been happy with myself in a long time – I thought losing weight was going to do it. All that’s done is make me healthier (yay!), thinner (yay!) but it hasn’t changed the inside problems that I need to get to the core of. I suspect that much like my financial situation, things are going to get worse before they get better, but after talking it out, crying it out, and sleeping on it, I know that they will get better because I’ve got plans in place.

Today started out with oversleeping again, but I think my body needed it. I felt like a wrung out dishrag last night – bloodshot eyes and head hurting from crying, face puffy from the same. Today I suspect my face looks a little worse for wear, and my mind is still preoccupied, but I need to power through. Gym after work, straight home and one foot in front of the other.

I know I’ve asked for this before, but I’m going to ask again, whoever is out there, whoever reads this. Please keep me in your prayers – whether they are to God, Jesus, Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I’m keeping you in all in mine as well.

General Stuff

So this week.

I so totally didn’t see it coming how shitty it would be.

Between the one year anniversary of my grandfather’s death (another Mac truck lurking in the bushes) and other bullshit, I haven’t been myself. Not that “myself” is usually a big old ray of sunshine, but I’ve felt a little more “dark cloud” than usual.

As I’ve divulged, I had to deal with the financial mess I’ve gotten myself into. Open and honest, I’m not the most financially responsible person. I came of age in an “Era of Plastic”, and I assumed I could pay tomorrow what I bought today. I literally have lived on credit, and when my ability to pay that credit back has been lacking, I’ve been at a loss.

The time for blame games has come and gone, and while I could point out where I (emphasis on the “I” here) went wrong, what’s the point? I’ve gotten myself into a hole, and as my father pointed out, I need to work myself out of it. What I find distressing is when I’ve reached out to the companies I’ve gotten myself into debt with, explained my situation, asked for help/understanding and have been rejected, I find demands and offers for deals now a bit unsettling after I’ve “gone nuclear”.

Off topic: I do love a good quote-mark and parenthetical, don’t I?

Anyhow, I after I “went nuclear” on payday loans (see previous entries) by getting into bed with a debt consolidation company, I understand why I’m getting calls and emails in the meantime, but I resent them when I asked for some breathing room. Selfish, immature? Perhaps, but as I’ve told one of my lifelines, I asked for help, and since you said no, this is the best I can do right now, so it’s that or nothing.

In other news, on family stuff, I’m not sure I’ve quite dealt with my grandfather’s death, the aftermath, and exactly what that has meant for my family. I think out little unit (me, mom and sis) have dealt with it in our own ways (me? Spending, exercise and binging in various quantities), and now, as of this writing, I’ve dealt with it via my old buddy food.

Yesterday and today have been a bad days, and I know (KNOW) that tomorrow will be better, but I’m disappointed that yesterday I turned to a jar of peanut butter and a soft pretzel for comfort (today, peanut butter and not quite so caloric carbs). I’ve been better today, but no angel, but any means but at least I got in a kick ass run. I know that between emotions and phone calls, I couldn’t deal intellectually, so I had to find other ways of coping, even if they weren't healthy, otherwise I'd explode.

I thought I knew better, and I do, but the past two days I’ve felt like the better part of valor was to stuff the feelings down until I can deal with them in smallerr quantities. I know that’s never good, but in some way, I’ve been leaning a bit too hard on my support network, and maybe I need the old ways. Nonsensical? Perhaps. Justification? Absolutely. But I know tomorrow will be better because it has to be better. I have no other option.

I need to be gentler and more understanding with myself, and more importantly, find ways of coping that don’t involve eating or spending money I don’t have. Today’s missteps don’t need to become tomorrow’s reality. Maybe sometimes, today peanut butter is the answer, and actually dealing with reality can be the answer tomorrow.

One Year

Sunday marks one year since your passing. I wonder if you’re looking down and wondering how it all went so wrong or if you’re surprised it took as long as it did for us all to fall out.

I’ll be honest, I love you, but I’m still mad as hell with you for what you left behind for us to deal with. I wish you had been man enough to deal with your own mortality, instead of sticking your head in the sand and pretending you were going to live forever. I wish you had taken off the blinders you wore when it came to your youngest, and realized you were leaving your wife in the care of a narcissistic drug addict, and leaving the rest of us powerless to do anything about it. I wish for once you had stood up to your youngest, made her grow up and stand on her own two feet, and take responsibility for her actions, the way I have been made to do.

Instead you ignored it all.

Now I have no contact with most of one side of my family. I realize I lost my grandmother, your wife, the day we received the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, but the day you died, and left her in the care of your youngest daughter, I lost my grandmother, as well as my grandfather, for good. Your youngest was never made to be accountable, and when we, that is my mother, sister and I, asked her to do so, we were cut off.

So here it is – your dying wish was that my mother and her sister not fight. The unspoken wish was that my mother roll over and play dead. Allow her sister to continue to do what she wanted, regardless of the consequences, now unchecked with your passing. Fortunately, my mother had the wherewithal, with the support of me and my sister, to stand up to her, your youngest daughter, and not allow herself or her family to play a part in that play.

I’m proud of my mother, but I can’t say I’m not angry. I’m angry it had to come so long after it started to play out. I’m angry you didn’t face up to things, and accept that my grandmother, and you for that matter, needed care. Maybe you’d still be with us, maybe my grandmother would be slightly better off than she is. Maybe your youngest daughter would be a better person, not the pill popping, money grubbing self centered brat she has become, and may have always been.

We’ll never know.

Sunday marks one year since you left us. I love you and I miss you, but I’m angry with you for the mess you left behind.

Update

So I have a little update on yesterday's blog post.

I started to look into payday loan consolidation, and the more I read, the more it made sense. They negotiate with the creditors, get interest rates lowered and get payment plans in place.

I got a reply from a query, the person sending me the information urged me to research other companies and find out what they could do (always a good sign - when any professional balks at a second opinion, I run, when they encourage it, I almost feel like it's a sign from God).

I had planned to suck it up this month. I asked my father to let me slide on money I give him each month. He agreed. I called my car loan company and asked them for an extension, it's still pending, but even if it's approved, only principal is waived for one month. Will need to pay interest and the full amount next month, but it's a help. I was still going to be underwater.

I slept on it and decided it was the right move. I called the consolidation company this morning and the woman asked me why I was waiting a month. I explained to her that I thought since it was already close to the end of the month, I had missed my opportunity. She explained that most of their clients call right before they get paid and they realize they are in trouble and they could help.

I quickly sped over to my bank to make arrangements - the person who helped me was wonderful. Non-judgemental, understanding, we bonded over running (we're both running in the Philadelphia Marathon - her the full, me the half). She helped me block payments, change accounts, begin the process of getting my house in order.

When I returned to the office, I faxed over the paperwork to the consolidation company, and as I understand it, they are already calling my creditors and faxing over letters.

It all feels too good to be true.

My internal pessimist wonders if it is. I'm holding my breath, but I feel like a weight has been lifted. I huge $6k one.

I've vowed to live within my means. No more loans, cash only. This can't happen again, it won't happen again. Much like my weight and exercise, I need to be healthy financially.

Austerity is the new black.

Dirty Laundry

It's dirty laundry time.

As I'm sure most of you have figured out, I'm an idiot. A big old dumb idiot, always have been, but over the past 2 1/2 years, I seem to have gotten dumber.

It all started when I was promoted. That promotion came with a kicker, my nice bi-weekly paycheck suddenly went to monthly. I scrambled, but still needed to cover the bills. I discovered this great new way of covering my expenses, just a few hundred.

Pay Day Loans

For those of you who have heard of them, I'm sure would you physically slap me upside the head for falling into this trap. For those of you who haven't, let me serve as a cautionary tale.

Basically, they are high interest loans, meant to be paid back on your next payday, in my case, 30 days later.

No problem, I thought. Better days will be here soon.

2 1/2 years later, I'm in a shitload of trouble. I mean big, old heaping mess of shit to the tune of $6,000+ and I'm trying to figure a way out. I was told pay increases were coming, and I found out today what that number actually meant - it came out to roughly $25 more a week. Yeah, not helpful.

As of this month, my outgoings are $1000 more than my incomings if I don't take out (yet another) loan. I am determined not to do that.

I'm begging, scrambling and basically in a tizzy, none of this is actually helping.

Just need to vent, share what's on my mind. I'm working on a way out, I'm just scared, sad and feeling stupid. Just another day in the life of Beth. Yay!

Tomorrow

This week has been a bit of a repeat of the Memorial Day debacle. Lots of eating, and eating of the wrong things, and not as much exercise as I would have liked given that amount of eating.

Tomorrow is weigh in day - the albatross around my neck.

That said, I’m ready for it (it being WW tomorrow), and I’m working on getting myself into a better place than I was last time.

Last time I faced my fear – a big gain, I lost it, and then some, the next week. In fact, I lost even more in the following weeks, to the point where I wasn’t sure that the numbers were real – meaning really “me”.

Tonight, I’m trying to get myself into the space I was the first time I saw the scale go below 140, let alone 135. I’m expecting a 2 pound gain, if not more. Yeah, I was “that” bad on 4th of July (and the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 5th - hey, it’s our Nation’s Birthday, I have no kids, and even Richard Simmons says you should have a piece of cake on your kid’s birthday. Seeing as I have none, I was eating cake for the country, and let me tell ya people, that’s a lot of cake. A lot.).

In a non-scale victory related front, I had a major victory. I ran in a 5k I had vaguely entertained entering the past 2 years it was held. On the 4th of July, a hut, humid, generally muggy day, I managed a 3.1 mile road race (up and down hills, the last part up) in 24 minutes, 12 seconds; a 7 minute 47 second mile. For those of you who don’t run, that is huge! 7 months ago, I ran a race hoping to come in under 12 minutes per mile. My mind was blown.

Of course, I reacted to this news by eating ¾ of a bagel, a soft pretzel, ice cream, lots of diet bread, and la piece de resistance, my buddy, peanut butter. Oh, and lots of water, some turkey and fruit. But mostly junk. Because why else do you work out?

Guess what? I didn’t freak out (ok, freak out for me…I did go on a 90 minute walk that afternoon, but that was more to occupy myself with something that didn’t (a) incur calories or (b) cost money).

I’ve clearly come a huge way , in my mind, – I never would have entertained running the entire length of a 5k, let alone in under a half an hour, one year ago today. So what if I’ve gained a pound or two (or three)? Been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt. I can lose it, and I will.

So there inner voice. Fuck you. I’ve got this.

Born to Run? Me?

I came to a realization today. I love running outside!

This is strange, in light of the fact that I made up a lot of excuses to avoid doing this in the build up to summer. “It’s too cold and I’m a wuss” “The cold triggers my asthma” “I need to watch something on TV to distract me”

Oh sure, I had run outside in the past. Actually, I came to start running in the first place because my treadmill had died, and I wound up having to exercise outside. It was a crazy hot day, and brilliant me, I thought I’d run so I could get my cardio over and done with faster. Honestly, it’s a miracle I’m still alive. Once I calculated the Activity Points via Weight Watchers, I decided that running would be “my thing”. I had a few fits and starts since that first day (like gaining 85+ pounds, but I digress) but I’ve always tried to come back to it.

Last year when I got back into fitness, I started running again, and signed up for a few races. Running outside was difficult to say the least. Now I know it was difficult because of (a) general lack of conditioning, (b) approximately 50 to 60 pounds of fat I had on my frame (compared to my current weight – and while I’ve lost 94 pounds to date, even I am not dumb enough to try to run at 230 pounds – I had to lose a few before I decimated my knees) and finally, (c) inadequately treated asthma. I couldn’t make it more than a mile before I started wondering when I could stop and/or dry heave.

Once the winter hit I was on the treadmill, with DVR’d episodes of “Blue Boods”, “Desperate Housewives” and “The Apprentice” to amuse me, full water bottle by my side and inhaler right on the treadmill dashboard. I went to the doctor for a regular checkup when she put me on a new medication for my asthma, and I was surprised to find that my inhaler started gathering dust, but I wasn’t ready to leave it behind.

My realization that I love running outside came a few weeks ago. I had a Saturday when I knew I would have a time crunch, and wasting time waiting for a stair master, my usual Saturday activity, wasn’t going to fit in. I woke up, planning to hit the treadmill in my house, when I felt ashamed. It was a sunny, gorgeous day. The temperature was perfect - not too hot, not too cold and practically no humidity. With some dread, I grabbed my one pair of “outside” running shorts (they have a pocket with a zipper, so I could keep my trusty inhaler close by) and laced up my sneakers.

To my surprise, the runners high kicked in. I never touched my inhaler, and I was able to manage my water intake thanks to a handheld water bottle that strapped to my hand. In fact, toward the end of my run, I was running down a hill, Born This Way blasting from my headphones, when I stretched my arms out. It was a cheesy move, yes, but I felt, I don’t know, alive. Running actually felt natural, not forced. I’ve been running on and off for 7 years and this is the first time I’ve felt like this.

Running was always more about efficiency than anything else. Doing Weight Watchers, I live for my Activity Points. I can gain 10 APs by running for 61 minutes (not that I’m counting the nanosecond or anything) while it takes me 2 hours and 33 minutes to earn the equivalent walking alone. A higher intensity activity just makes more sense, who cares if it’s fun?

Since that Saturday, I’ve taken every chance I can get to run outside. If I didn’t need to get up so early to knock out my cardio, I’d run in the morning, but I’m pretty sure a 5 am run (when it’s pitch black) would be a suicide mission.

Today, because of my urgently needed motor vehicle inspection (15 days late, but really, who’s counting?) I had to work from home, and in light of the gorgeous weather, I took an early lunch and went for a late morning run. I grabbed any old pair of shorts, tucked my inhaler in my sports bra and grabbed a random water bottle.

I was dying by mile 2, but persevered. I ran 62 minutes and 6.75 miles. When I synchronized my run, I discovered I had a personal best as far as speed, 9 minutes, 12 seconds per mile on average. Honestly, I know may never replicate this run, so I’m reveling in it, and as of right now, baby, I was born to run. Care to join me?

Progress

I feel like I’ve made some progress in this little journey of mine. Last week, as I ranted incessantly, was so not a good week in terms of living a healthy lifestyle. Between eating too much at a holiday bar-b-que, not being able to exercise because of 12 hour long work days and stress binge eating, I started to slip into bad habit and it showed on the scale. In reality, I wasn’t as bad as I could have been, and probably ate much worse on a “normal” day pre Weight Watchers, but I still did a really good job of beating the hell out of myself over it.

I made a key decision, I still went to my weekly weigh in, even though knew it would be bad. I couldn’t go to my normal Friday meeting, so I made a point of getting up early on Saturday and getting over to another meeting. As expected, it was bad. Like 3.4 pound gain bad. I know it wasn’t all fat, but still, pretty bad on my 5’3” frame. Five years ago, something like that would have had me running for the nearest McDonalds (conveniently located across the parking lot from WW. Seriously, whoever planned these locations is either an evil genius or a complete idiot. My guess is evil genius.) That is, if I even got on the scale at all. Like a lot of people, I hate seeing the cold reality of the scale, even more so when the prior trend was downward.

I’d be lying if I didn’t have the urge to let myself “go” another week, but I tried to remember what got me started. I tried to remember how I felt with 90 pounds of extra weight, wearing clothes I didn’t like, not being able to wear rings I loved because they were too tight on my bloated fingers, being sweaty all the time. I tried to remember how difficult it was to walk at a quick pace, forget running, the embarrassment of barfing after pushing myself too hard on a cardio machine (even if I did retell it for laughs later on) . I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to be going back that place, to being that person.

So I spent Saturday trying to get back on plan with mixed results. I went for a 7.5 mile run, I ate healthy and on track until the evening came and the carb monster decided to come out to play. I kept trying, with success for the rest of the week. I went to my weigh in today hoping to at least not have gained, hopefully to have lost. My hard work paid off and I not only lost the weight I gained last week, but also another quarter pound.

The focus now, as it has been, is maintenance, but also to be more realistic. I had the worst case scenario – a horrid week, not eating right, missing some exercise, and a rather large gain, and guess what? I survived. I not only survived, but I managed to get back on track and reverse it.

Makes me think I just may be able to do this maintenance thing!

Yes, Another Whiny Food/Diet Related Blog

I feel like shit.

I’m not sick, allergies are OK despite the pollen and humidity. I’ve been eating like a human garbage can since last Friday.

Oh, lighten up I thought. It’s a holiday weekend. It started with a doughnut after an unexpected 2 pound weight loss at weigh in.

From there on it’s been downhill. The people living with me don’t really know because I closet eat. It’s part of my thing. I’m uncomfortable eating OP (Off Program) in front of other people, even if I have the “budget” from Weekly Points and Activity Points, especially when I've blown my budget. Pretzels and doughnuts are the key culprints, easy to eat while driving. I have literally driven from one convenience store to another to buy binge food and eat it on the way. I can’t really explain it, I wish I could so I could stop it. The good news is that I'm working really hard to get the purging under control. It's a struggle and a process, but I'm working on it.

Yesterday I got a prelunch peptalk from my friend J. I ate my healthy salad, fruit as a snack, killer workout, healthy dinner. Then I started snacking.

So it’s come to this, Wednesday, Day 6 of my binge. I’ve worked out everyday except today, so that works in my favor, although the fact that I couldn’t face the heat has backed me into a workout corner. Now I’m stuck in a room with 15 colleagues, with no sign of getting out anytime soon so I can exercise at a reasonable time. I’m wearing a suit that if I’m honest has always been snug. On one hand I’m pretty sure it’s no tighter than usual, although given the guilt I’m feeling from the poor eating (excessive snacking more like) it feels like a sausage casing. The scale is up at least 2.5 pounds since last Friday, Lord knows what it will be like by Saturday.

I know that how I’ve eaten over the past few days doesn’t even hold a candle to how I used to eat but I’m still feeling bad. I also know that I’m too hard on myself. I know that, really I do. I saw the movie Black Swan a few months ago, and the lead character (who winds up killing herself in the end in a state of psychosis – I won’t spoil the movie for you but it wasn’t an intentional suicide, and please don’t misinterpret this comparison as a threat) has a constant refrain – she wants to be perfect. That rang true with me. No, not the start ballet, dress up in bird feathers, have a psychotic break with reality wherein (SPOILER ALERT) I think I've killed the person that is my rival but have actually stabbed myself in the stomach.

No, I want to be perfect.

Oh, and Black Swan while good, was a really strange movie. But I did learn that trying to be perfect is really not a good thing.

It’s not rational, it’s not practical. It’s setting myself up for failure, thus starting a shame spiral from not being perfect. Perfection cannot be attained. I know this. Really I do. I need to find a way to loosen the reins and live. Indulge without binging.

I can’t change today (or Tuesday, Monday, Sunday, Saturday or Friday) but I can change go forward. I can choose differently tomorrow. I can live in the now.

I still have a race coming up – one in July and another in November. I will be running them.

I have a new wardrobe – buying one in a bigger size is not an option. I will be wearing it three months from now.

My breakfast, lunch and snacks (healthy and on program) are both still in the fridge. I will be eating them tomorrow. The vending machine and I are on a break. Except for a diet coke and perhaps a cup of black coffee, nothing else will be purchased by me in the cafeteria tomorrow. Gas (and perhaps fruit) is all Wawa will be selling me – no doughnuts, no soft pretzels.

I will be up at 5:00 am tomorrow and Friday since the way today has gone, the gym after work probably isn't realistic. Brass tacks: I feel better when I workout. The day starts on a good note. A part of me is even starting to like how free I feel when I run. Shhh! Don't tell anyone.

I know I have the tools. One day of not exercising doesn’t mean I will have lost my endurance. Because of these meetings, I won’t be able to work with my trainer this week. This doesn’t mean I will have lost my muscle tone.

I need to think of the past few days as being on the world’s crappiest cruise with the world’s best buffet table. I ate to excess (for me) but I’ll bounce back. This is my dietary week's staycation.

The staycation is over tomorrow, weigh in day (Saturday because of these meetings) be damned.

I can do this. I WILL do this.

If for no other reason, so I don’t have to write another blog entry like this.

Thanks for listening again. Thanks for still supporting me. Thanks for continuing to have my back.

Just For Today

Just for today, I will be in control of what I eat

Just for today, I will not binge

Just for today, if I do binge, I will forgive myself and move on, no purge

Just for today, I will not eat my trigger foods

Just for today, I will remember that soft pretzels, doughnuts, crusty bread and 100 calorie packs of cookies will still be there tomorrow

Just for today, I will love and honor my body in it's current state

Just for today, I will not beat myself up for what I did last week, yesterday or ten minutes ago

Just for today, and everyday

Losing Sight, Needing Prayers

I feel like I’ve been spiraling the past few weeks, repeating the cycle of following program, falling off for a few days, going into a binge/purge cycle and then repeating. I’m sick of it.

I’ve lost sight of the fact that this is a journey. I can’t, and I’m not going to, be in this for the short term.

People have told me to call them or reach out when I feel a binge coming on. I haven’t and there is a reason why. When I’m cycling up to a binge, I almost don’t want to be talked out of it, and when I purge, it’s like I want to be caught but at the time, I also want to get rid of the calories I’ve consumed. Is this strange? I honestly don’t know at this point.

I know why I binge – a big part is stuffing down the feelings, smaller part is a food craving. I want to be perfect in this, and yeah, I know, that ain’t gonna happen. I don’t want to feel frustration – frustration over daily things. For all that I talk the talk, I don’t do the walk very well. When I’m upset it’s easier to eat a bagel then to tell somebody. When I’m sad it’s easier to eat some bread than to cry. Instead I eat and then feel frustrated or sad with myself, for not dealing with the issue, and for overeating.

Talking about this is hard, writing is actually easier (and cheaper). If I cry, the tears fall on a keyboard, and there are no witnesses. I don’t feel like I have to apologize for the incoherent talk, the runny nose, the shaking hands.

I do know I need to change my actions. As I type this on Wednesday, I’m in day two of a binge cycle. For today, I am trying really hard not to purge. Honestly, I purged yesterday, and I also did on Sunday. I’ve done so a few times in the weeks past. I know it’s wrong, it’s not healthy, and it goes against everything I’ve been trying to do. But there it is, I can’t take it back. I can just try not to do it today.

So where do I go from here? Weigh in day is Friday. That’s a new week for program, and I am mentally prepared to start back, not on maintenance, but just regular program. 29 Points a day, plus 39 Weekly and my Activity Points. I need to go back to basics and get off of the roller coaster of splurge/binge and “normal”.

I have a food centric event on Saturday, a lunch time family reunion at a buffet. I’d like to skip it but I know that’s not an option. I’m hoping to work through it by keeping a calm head, but keeping my focus on the fact that I have come too far to go back now. But if I do lose the plot, that’s going to have to be OK, because it’s just lunch. I’m working on a plan and I need to stick with it.

I know this may seem small to some of you, but it isn’t for me. I’ve been a yo-yo (as my dad likes to remind me) my whole life, and it needs to stop. I need to keep the weight off once and for all, and focus on being healthy, not skinny, but healthy, and that means not being a binge eater, and not being bulimic, and not abusing my body.

What I need right now, and I don’t ask for this lightly, are prayers, not hovering, just pray that I have strength. I need strength to push through this. I’ve been in therapy before, and it just hasn’t helped. I know what I need to do – stop abusing my body, stop abusing food. I need to stop the cycle. So if you can keep me in your prayers, whether they are to God or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I'd appreciate it.

Thanks.

Forgiveness

This past week has been a rough one. I admit it for the record…I’ve slipped into some bad habits, not just with eating, but with binge and purge in the past week or so.

It stops now

I’ve been freaking out a bit about being at goal, and it has to stop. What good has this freaking out done for me? I’ve been questioning everything. From the amount of exercise – it too much (probably), not enough (maybe) or just right (perhaps) to the amount of food I eat, and how I react when it all doesn’t go to plan (not well if it involves what I’ve done more than once and I’ll spare you the gory details).

Over the past two days I’ve been eating a record amount food (for me since I’ve been back on WW at least), and I’ve purged more often than I’d care to admit in the past week. On the surface, I look the same, at least I think I do. My jeans still fit, I’m not bursting any seams. So the time to rein things in is now.

I hold myself to high standards, higher than I should, and when I don’t meet them, my first instinct is to throw in the towel. That isn’t an option this time. It’s time for me to grow up, accept that I’m not perfect, and start over again. I need to regroup, and get back the focus that has helped me be successful. I need to take my own advice – forgive yourself, and move on. I need to stop holding myself to standards I wouldn't expect of anyone else.

So here I am, admitting what I’ve done. I’ve binged and I’ve purged , and it’s time for me to accept that I’ve made mistakes and move on from them. I forgive myself, and I am going to strive not to repeat the mistakes that I’ve made. I can't put the genie back in the bottle, and I can't take back the decisions I've made.

I am going to see the results of my binges on the scale on Friday, how can I not? But I need to accept it, and move on from it, and live the life I am meant to live without punishing myself and my body.

Breakfast is going to be a healthy one, my workout will be a good and solid one, and lunch and dinner will follow suit. No gorging on bread, no secretly eating excess food, and no doing things that I shouldn't if I were to derail and go off plan.

I'm still me on the inside if I'm five pounds heavier, or five pounds lighter. That doesn't change. I need to change how I react when I hit a bump along the way, by not abusing my body by purging, or by gaining 90 pounds. I need to confront what is bothering me head on, and not dive into a pile of food to stuff it down.

Right now what is bothering is the pressure I'm putting on myself. The pressure to be perfect - to be under goal, to maintain. So here is my message to me: Well guess what Beth, you're not perfect. You're never going to be. The best you can do is try, and sometimes that means failure, but that doesn't mean throwing in the towel. If you gain five pounds, you'll lose it. Gaining five more accomplishes nothing except being ten pounds heavier. You don't expect anybody else to be perfect. Why do you expect it from yourself? Nobody else does.

So you've messed up tonight. You're going to make a cup of tea and go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. Do your best. Signed, Beth

Double Secret Probation – Lifted

A note about the following: this is pretty raw (at least for me) and may confuse or even offend some people. This is something that I haven’t gone about pressing “post” lightly. What I’m writing about has torn my family apart. I reached out to my mother and my sister for their feedback and blessing. My sister’s comments are posted at the bottom, my mother has been asking me almost daily when I am going to post it. I’ve written this for me, and nobody else. As I state below, this is my truth as I see it. I no longer purge physically, but needed to “purge” this emotionally. If you choose to read this, thank you for listening and understanding.

Points to anybody who IDs the movie that comes from.

After a few weeks, I’ve decided to lift the veil of secrecy I’ve had on the blog. In order to explain the reason for lifting, I guess I need to explain the reason for the veil in the first place.

As some of you may know, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about two years ago, and my grandfather, her primary caregiver, passed away in August. My grandfather was a stubborn man, in some ways a benefit, in others, a true deficit. He resisted help literally until his dying moment, and denied his pending death and what that meant until the bitter end. At the end, with his kidneys having shut down and the rest of his body following suit, my sister had to call in numerous favors, and risk her job, to get him into hospice in the last hours of his life. He, without discussing his wishes with anybody else in the family, decided my mother’s sister (who has chronic pain and takes multiple narcotics) would care for my grandmother.

A word about my mother’s sister and this is airing some very dirty laundry which I no longer feel the need to hide. Mom’s sister (who I now refer to as my ex-aunt) was always a somewhat flaky individual. She was married to a similarly flawed man, who was flawed before he was shot in the line of duty as a police officer. The injuries and the long term results didn’t help the fact that he came from a family with violence and addiction issues, the fact that he had a bullet fragment lodged in his body and the pain that came with it, in addition to the alcohol my ex-aunt readily gave him, had some bad results. One of which was the majorly inappropriate things he said and did around (and to) me. I won’t go to the next step and say I was molested, because the man was partially paralyzed, but the way it made me feel as an insecure 17 year old wasn’t too far off the mark.

I told my sister, who promptly told my mother, after one particularly inappropriate Thanksgiving, and she handled it like a pro. Mom said I’d never see or talk to him again, and I never did. My ex-aunt left him a few months after, and for a time, he was the devil incarnate. She had nothing but bad things to say about the person she helped to create, and was indignant when told she needed to get a job. She flitted about, getting fired/laid off, and it was always someone else’s fault. She treated my grandfather like her personal groundskeeper, so I guess it was small wonder what he expected of her as he realized he was dying.

Once my ex-aunt’s ex-husband passed way, he was suddenly a saint. She had nothing but positive things to say to him, and when my sister or I either left the room, snorked in disgust, or in one case with my sister actually called her/him out, it was dismissed.

I bring this up to show that the ill will I feel now isn’t exactly misplaced, and my questioning of her judgment has some basis.

Anyhow, the day after my grandfather died, a social worker from the hospice came out, to help us work through next steps with regard to my grandmother’s care. My mother’s sister flipped out, raging at all of us in the room. She told us that she “promised daddy” that she would take care of my grandmother and accused us of not caring about her (my ex-aunt) and that my grandparents were the only ones who cared. We, as gently as we could, told her we did in fact care, and worried about her pain management and what she had to do to get through each day.

We pointed out that she was clearly overwhelmed, and wasn’t able to follow the directions set out by the visiting nurse who cared for my grandfather. We told her we knew she was smoking in a house with an oxygen tank, forget the fact that my grandparents, adamantly against smoking never wanted her to smoke in the house. It was pointed out that we not only knew, but witnessed her sitting on the porch, feet away from the tanks, puffing away. Our intention we told her, was that we thought it would be good for my grandmother to be in a nursing home, where she would get skilled care, and perhaps make some progress , as much as an Alzheimer’s patient can and that my mother’s sister could go about healing herself, emotionally and physically, and resume her life, including getting a job.

My mother’s sister dug in her heels, moving into my grandparent’s house and started freely spending my grandparent’s money. She went about essentially erasing any evidence that my grandfather lived there, disposing of his arm chair, setting up her own lair where he once sat with an ash tray, lighter and pack of cigarettes displayed in the house. Drawing a salary for caring for my grandmother, making purchases that I don’t understand how someone who hasn’t been employed for quite some time could afford to make and blocking any attempts we (mom, sis and I) made to help care for my grandmother, implying that the help we were offering was the wrong kind, in the wrong amount, and just plain wrong.

About six weeks ago, things came to a head, thanks to my old friend Facebook. I’m not sure who made the realization that my mother’s sister was on there, but we had one or two mutual friends who are relatives. My mother’s sister didn’t attempt to friend any of us, I actually blocked her, getting a sense that I didn’t want her to be my friend, let alone my aunt. One day, my ex-aunt messaged my mother on Facebook, instead of emailing, texting, or heaven forbid, calling, angry that we hadn’t visited on what would have been my grandfather’s birthday. My mother didn’t reply. Then she saw that my ex-aunt was badmouthing the three of us to another relative, on Facebook.

That was the last straw.

Mom emailed her, telling her that (a) she could feel free not to publicly air family issues on Facebook and (b) that seeing as my grandfather was dead, she wasn’t sure why she needed to visit the house on that particular day.

To say the message didn’t go over well is an understatement. She sent a nonsensical rant to my mother, bringing up things long past, accusing my mother of financial mismanagement of all things, implying my sister hastened my grandfather’s death and taking a slew of other paranoid, cheap shots going way back. At that point, I took my little blog private, because I know my ex-aunt found it once, and I wasn’t sure if she’d find it again. At the time, I wanted privacy, and I didn’t want her to have any insight into my life. Now, I don’t care.

I’m sure if she were to see this she, WW III would break out. But this is my truth, these are the facts as I see them, and I think I’m entitled. I’ve done a lot of work on my outside this year, and I need to do work on the inside now. That means no more toxic people, even if they are relatives.

If you’re still with me, 3 pages in MS Word as I type this, I hope you understand and don’t judge. Every family has its quirks, and I’m sure you think me insane for airing dirty laundry. I just no longer feel the need to hide. If people ask about my family these days, particularly my grandmother, I don’t know how to answer. My access has been cut off, almost by mutual decision on the part of her caretaker. If I want a relationship with my grandmother, that means I have to have a relationship with a person who takes narcotic painkillers and has treated my mother poorly over the years.

That makes me sad, but the reality is that my grandmother died the day we received the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. What remains now is a shell of the woman who used to have tea parties with me (juice for me, coffee for her, lots of cookies for both of us), called me her Betty Doll and always told me I looked like I had lost weight even when I had gained a few pounds. Now when I see her I walk in the door announcing myself and my relationship to her – “Hi Grandmom, it’s Beth”. I’m sure she makes the connection that I’m her granddaughter, but nothing else.

I miss her, and I miss the way things used to be, but there is no sense living in the past. I need to move forward now, and fix what I can.

I reached out to my mother and sister for their thoughts this. My sister offered the following: Can I add a couple of things? Grandmom and Grandpop used to cook for her and clean too. They paid bills for her, even that $2,000 tax bill right before grandpop died. K**** spent more time with P***'s niece and nephew than she ever did with us, even after the divorce. She flew to Texas to see R***, but she couldn't drive here after mom had surgery. She drove T*** home from the grandpop's hospital hopped up on her pain pills and sedatives. Her behavior has always been erratic, selfish hateful and mean. She never thanked me for the whole hospice thing. She never acknowledged how hard it was for me to pull it all together so fast or how hard it was for me to do post-mortem care on my own grandfather. I had nightmares about the whole thing for weeks. She was angry because the other nurse and I destroyed the morphine and the ativan instead of giving it to her. She was angry with me because of the social worker. She was angry with me because she couldn't bully me the way she did everyone else. She is jealous of mom and has always done petty and nasty things to her. I want to stress this: this isn't from mom bad mouthing her. This is from what I observed with my own two eyes, from the time I was 2. Mom stayed loyal one hell of a lot longer than most people would. K**** tried to get mom alone so she could bully her. She knew I was on to her. She isn't a flake--she is erratic and evil.

Grandmom and grandpop created her. In the end, they chose K**** over mom and even us. You reap what you sow. I'm proud of mom for stopping the cycle, as painful as it is. She did better for us and we'll do better for T***. One more thought: she made my mother cry

Goal!

Today is the day I’ve been waiting for – I got to goal weight (actually a little under) at Weight Watchers. Last week was satisfying as well – last week marked the date I was once again “Lifetime in Good Standing” and didn’t have to pay the weekly meeting fee, but today is really the day that marked a victory for me. Not Mission Accomplished, that actually will never happen, but getting to just under goal weight is a victory.

Why will it never be Mission Accomplished? Well, honestly I’ve never been able to sustain weight loss for more than six months. People who have known me for a long time know that I’ve done this before, but I’ve lost the plot and have found myself back at the beginning, and discovering that the finish line was further out than before. I can’t let that happen this time. Mission Accomplished means I’ve died at 105 years old weighing less than 143 pounds. Mission Accomplished can be on my tombstone.

I have no idea how I am going to do this.

I have a “contract” on a site called StickK, where you set a goal, parameters and ramifications. For me, I chose stay at or below 143 pounds (the weight which makes me Lifetime in Good Standing) by this time next year. I must weigh in weekly and at or below 143. If I skip a weigh in, or come in at, say, 143.2, I pay $5 which will be donated to a charity not of my choosing. My father, who frankly is one of my biggest doubters, although I don’t believe he recognizes this, is the referee. I have him in this role more so I can prove to him that this time will be different.

It will be different because it has to be.

It was too hard this time. I’m 36, getting close to menopause (closer than I was at 21) and losing is more difficult. My skin is saggier. My muscles know the drill and are less reluctant to obey.

I tried to do it differently this time. I have a wider support system. I’ve invested a great deal of cold, hard cash that I don’t have to invest. I’ve tried to be more forgiving of myself. I’ve not always been successful, but I’m proud of the fact that I’ve taken breaks and gotten back on track. In the past I’ve just thrown in the towel. Five years ago, I never could have taken a two week break from WW and exercise and just gotten back into the routine before it got out of control. Five years ago I would have said “Fuck it, pass the cheese fries”. I’ve had two instances of binge and purge. The first time I went into the aforementioned two week spiral. The second time I woke up my mother and told her. I went to WW anyway and dealt with the resulting gain from water retention and food I didn’t expel.

Keep me honest here friends. Help me stay on track. Tell me how I can support you and your goals. You have all supported me, I want to pay it forward.

Just don’t ask me to support you by joining you in a competitive eating contest, ok? 

SVH

Another true confession time here. Hopefully some of you will relate.

5’6”. Blonde. Aquamarine eyes. Size 6 figures. Drove a red Fiat. Identical twins. California. More dances in a year than I went to in my entire school career, junior and high schools combined.

For those of you of a certain age, those bon mots mean only one thing: Sweet Valley High and the Wakefield Twins.

They set an impossible standard for us children of the 80’s. How couldn’t they? Elizabeth, with TBT (Trusty Boyfriend Todd) and her sister, Jessica with her ever revolving cast of boyfriends, but steady (and fabulous) bestie Lila. Their high jinks, at least subconsciously, had me thinking there was something wrong with me once I made it to 18 (although I had, in fact, moved onto more adult authors well before high school), since I had made it to maturity without ever having been: in a coma, kidnapped, in a small plane crash, date raped (or almost), had a boyfriend who played both basketball and football (imagine! He plays for both teams!), been drunk after one shot of vodka, had my kitchen decimated by an earthquake (admittedly difficult living in Pennsylvania) or recruited by cult. All before I turned 17 (let alone 18). Oh, and I never had a fabulously wealthy boyfriend (named Bruce of all things) that had a vanity plated Porsche – 1bruce1.

The cheesy, nostalgic part of me (who writes this blog) was ecstatic when I heard a sequel of sorts was coming out, revising the twins at the age of 27. The premise: Elizabeth, the “good” twin hastily relocating to NYC after some sort of betrayal by Jessica, the ubiquitous “bad” twin and Bruce, the driver of 1bruce1, at the time a vain playboy, now Elizabeth’s bestie, not Enid (her brunette, frizzy haired friend). Oh, and in SVH canon, with the exception of Lila, all brunettes were dull and rather unfortunate. Anybody else wonder why I’m obsessed with hair color? Ok. Good. Glad we’re all clear on that point.

I’m ashamed to admit I cleared my reading queue (i.e. not starting up another book on my Kindle or lengthy magazine) in the day or two before its release date.

Today was the day, and as I type this, I’m frankly disappointed.

I managed to read it on my lunch hour.

Yep, you read it right. My lunch HOUR. When I was 11 or 12 and reading the SVH books for the first time, they were quick reads at best. But hell, I read Mommie Dearest and Interview with A Vampire when I was 10 or so (much to my mother’s chagrin, even if though she did brag one day that an employee at the DMV was engrossed in an SVH novel when she went to get her license renewed, long after I outgrew the series), but I thought the creator, Francine Pascal, would have had enough respect for her seemingly (hopefully?) now adult readers to have made it more substantive than a short story in Cosmo (which, full disclosure, I stopped reading a few years ago. If I haven’t tried the Reverse Cowboy by now, odds are my hips are too bad to try anytime in the near future).

Yeah, it was nice reading a story with familiar characters, even if some of them swore more and drank more dirty martinis than I remembered from my youth. But I’m fairly certain I could have written a more mature novel with a little more character development after several bottles of wine.

Oh well, I guess you can’t go home again. Here’s hoping Diablo Cody (the writer/director of Juno) comes up with a decent screenplay!

My Quest – Continued (with a script!)

I’d like to take the preamble to my blog to reiterate to my friends and family that they should submit me as a candidate for TLC’s show, What Not To Wear. I won’t get mad, in fact, the only tears that will be shed will be tears of joy. I’ll act the part if that’s what they want, but I will be ecstatic inside.

The groundwork having been laid, as I sit here watching an episode, I’d like to make it a bit easier for the crew of WNTW but laying out the script for my episode.

Voiceover: Meet Beth, a 36 year old single Operations Analyst (and please don’t ask what that actually means because her family doesn’t know) who lives in the suburbs of Philadelphia. She recently lost over 80 pounds and wears generally tragic clothing. In this episode, we’ll help her ditch her discount store wardrobe, $5 sweatpants and sweatshirts and embrace her inner high-end fashionista.

Secret Camera Footage

Me: I think this is functional (wiping sweat from my face and smoothing my hair down while talking to the crew at the supermarket). I just came from the gym and really, why should I dress up? I’m just going there to sweat, so why should I make an effort (while gesturing to my $5 bike shorts and oversized t-shirt). My work style? It’s functional (queue footage of me teetering around on heels and in oversized pants)

In my bedroom – my friends, Jen and Ashia

Jen: Seriously, look at this shit (bleep!). It’s polyester. And this shirt? Cute and it works, but she stole it from her mother (who rocks a v-neck and is totally fashionable) but no 36 year old should be stealing her mother’s clothing.

Ashia: And these shoes? Payless! PAYLESS people. If you’re going to kill an animal for fashion, at least make it for Manolo Blahnik.

Intervention

Voiceover: We’re here in Blue Bell (or East Norriton or wherever) with a $5,000 What Not To Wear credit card and a fashion intervention for this 30 something’s wardrobe.

Me: (doing something interesting and official, I’m sure) Blah, blah, blah. Blah blah blah blah.

Stacey: Stop. Just stop right now. Beth, I’m Stacey

Clinton: And I’m Clinton

Both: And we’re from TLC’s What Not To Wear

Clinton: Beth we’re hear because your family is sick of your work wardrobe of cheap synthetics and weekend wear of gym clothes…

Beth: (cutting Clinton off): THANK GOD YOU’RE FINALLY HERE!

END. SCENE.

I’ve done the legwork people. I’m even wearing my “best” dog hair covered seat pants so you can get plenty of shots. Now it’s your turn.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I went for the big snip yesterday – no, not that one. I have the wrong parts for THAT big snip, but I did cut off most of my hair.

As I was perusing pictures, looking for one of me with my “old” pixie cut, it occurred to me that most of the people in my life, aside from a few friends and family, have only known me with my veil of long hair. I was in the midst of growing it out when I joined Facebook about 2 and a half years ago and most of my recent pictures are either of the awkward growing out stage or of the end product.

I was amused at the reactions I got when I floated the prospect of a haircut out on Facebook. There were a lot of “No!”’s and a few “Go for it”s. My new stylist, who I love, but have only been going to since October, was cautious but enthusiastic. The end product is a bit longer than I envisioned, but as my stylist pointed out, you can also cut off more, but gluing it back on is a bit difficult.

I understand the reactions. Many women have their entire identities wrapped up in what grows out of their noggins. I’m not one of them. I’m always slightly annoyed when I watch What Not To Wear and the week’s subject balks at the suggested changes to hair style and color. I for one would jump at the chance to have someone who normally charges upwards of $500 for a haircut and is known and respected in their field to give me an unbiased suggestion as to what would look best on me. As I’ve told many a stylist, and friend, it’s only hair, and that I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve cried over a haircut, the last time being when I was 20 (the tears were mostly over frustration trying to style a new cut without the right tools, not that I didn’t like it).

I know I’m not normal for my gender, but my attitude is if you can’t have fun with your hair, then really, what’s the point?

I’ve justified lopping off the product of three years of bad hair by saying it will make my workouts easier – more specifically the post workout routine easier. Anybody can throw their hair up in a ponytail, but only a glutton for punishment gets up early to workout, then wash, blow dry straight and then flat iron hair that has multiple cowlicks and sections of curly hair. A part of me was sick of seeing the hair falling out when I washed it – both from the natural hair cycle and from weight loss, another part of me got sick getting it caught in the straps of my purse and yet another part of me got sick of getting up at the crack of dawn to do the above routine. My reasons for having longer hair were more than cosmetic though.

True story – a few months ago I was at the supermarket, and saw a guy I had a blind date with. He was aggressive and a little letchy – he suggested, in a roundabout way, that we have a “sleepover” the night I met him. Sensibly, I demurred, but he didn’t get the hint, alternately calling, texting and messaging me through the dating website we met through. I was at the market one Friday and saw him. I did a supermodel/Pantene worthy flip of my hair and hid half of my face when I saw him to avoid detection.

Being totally honest, the whole reason why I grew my hair out in the first place was because of my weight. I felt like my then signature pixie was out of place on my increasingly obese frame. I often mock models with their little bodies and disproportionately large heads, and I found myself feeling like the opposite – big body, little head. I wanted the hair to balance it out….to hide behind. Now that I’m smaller, and being more active, longer hair is a massive pain in the ass truth be told. I have to make sure my gym bag always has a hair band and rubber bands. A few weeks ago I forgot a rubber band when going to spinning class. I was focused more on maneuvering my hair off of my neck and out of my face for the class rather than on the quality of my workout. After 60 minutes of this I wound up throwing my neck out. The other night, I had a weight training session and forgot a hair band. Oh yeah, doing pushups was a blast with my hair in my face, not to mention having to get up the next morning to wash the sweat out of my mop (and all that entailed).

I had started kicking around a chop around the time I started back at the gym, but didn’t feel confident until now. I gave myself excuses – I’ve invested a ton of money in product and accessories (side note: anybody interested in used InStyler? $25 OBO), guys like girls with longer hair, I spent three years growing it out.

At the end of the day, I decided to own my look and shed my veil, my comfort blanket. This is me…I have short hair, and I can sleep later than you in the morning and still look pulled together. Let’s rock this.

Dirty Secret

Despite the fact that I relentlessly Facebook and blog about it, and seem to be constantly engaged in some form of it, I hate exercising.

I actually question the sanity of people that say they love exercise.

Whether it’s running, spinning, hitting the Stairmaster, lifting weights or going for a brisk (yet endless) walk, the only thing I like about working out is the end result and the fact that it’s done for the day.

From the sore muscles, black toe nails (still! I may never be ready for flip flop/sandal season at this rate. Chanel Vamp here I come), icky hair and/or smeared makeup, there is very little I enjoy about the workouts I do.

Last night I experienced a rarity, the runner’s high. I pressed the snooze button at 5:00 am (actually, I hit another combination of buttons and changed the time of my alarm from 5:00 to 6:00 (with that kind of dexterity at 5:00 am, I probably could have managed a run), and still didn’t get up until 6:45) and wound up in two positions I dislike – having to wear “sensible heels” to work, and needing to rush home and get on the treadmill so I could exercise, eat dinner at a reasonable hour and get something resembling a good night’s sleep. I would up leaving work later than I had planned, and despite a valiant effort, wound up getting caught in traffic. I didn’t make it home until later than I wanted, but still wound up getting in a 5 mile run.

I had a false start – due to an accumulation of dog hair on one of the wheels of my treadmill, it travelled across the linoleum floor during the first five minutes of my run, making me stop, clean up and reposition. After that, something kicked in and I sailed through the next 40 minutes. If it wasn’t for my parents and a pending DVR’d episode of Survivor, two hungry dogs and if I’m truthful a hungry me, I might have been able to get in 6, or even a record 7. It was the kind of run I dream about, the only part missing was me having a long blonde ponytail bouncing from my head, firmer abs and a tighter butt, and I could have done without the copious amount of sweat dripping from my puny brown ponytail and smeary raccoon eyes. But I’ll take it.

Honestly the only reason I ran last night was because of what I now know is a malfunctioning bathroom scale, which had me believing I had gained 3 pounds because of last Saturday’s crusty bread/peanut butter binge/extravaganza. I wanted to be able to walk into WW this morning knowing I had done all that I could. I weighed myself this morning and found I weighed slightly more than I did last Friday (yeah, I weigh myself twice a day, I know and expect my nighttime weight to be higher than my weight in the morning, but I still can’t break the habit). I expected my weigh in this morning to show a gain, or at best a stay the same, not the 1.8 pound loss I actually had. I would have chalked up the WW scale as wrong, but I also went to the doctor and found the scale there was in sync with WW. Of course the answer is for me to go to WW or the doctor at 6:45 am and 9:30 pm, drop trou and hop on the scale at one of the two locations on a daily basis. Somehow I think I’ll have an issue convincing either that this is a good idea.

Or I could just get a new scale.

Anyhow, getting back to fitness….I managed to get my workout done for today, and didn’t experience a repeat of last night’s “high”. I got in a 1 hour, 3.75 mile walk while multitasking on conference calls and replying to emails, and also managed a 3.3 mile, 33 minute run with a break here or there (one for repositioning, one because I wanted a break at the 25 minute point, and the last because I had to reply to an IM from a colleague, and while I can walk and type, I can’t run and type). I’m again in love with exercise because I am done for this day, and thinking of what I am going to do (or do to get out of it) tomorrow.

A Tail of Two Dogs

Ok, so I lied about not having a new post tonight.

As some of you know, I have two dogs. A 9 year old male Lab, Bogey, and a 4 year old (I think) female Beagle, Candy (she was a stripper in her past life. Or an Interventionist. I’m not quite sure, but I didn’t have the heart to rename her Bridget, as I had originally intended). I love them both, and they couldn’t be more different.

Obedience
My lab, while in many ways is the canine Beth (i.e. the consummate people pleaser), in one way he is a stubborn mother. He doesn’t come when called unless there is some other enticement. When I put him outside, I have to hawk him. On more than one occasion, he has taken off for greener pastures (literally, my next door neighbor doesn’t have a dog, so his lawn is oh so green, unlike mine with yellow pee patches dotted throughout). When I call him, bellowing “BOGEY!” he typically doesn’t respond, or looks around like “Bogey? Who?” Not until I make it clear that some food product is in my hand does he even begin to act like he knows who I am.

That said, inside, it’s another story. My beagle won’t give me the time of day. Seriously, I’ve asked. She can’t tell time. The only person she will come to when called is my father, and that’s usually because he has Cheetos. When I do call her, Mr. Hearing Impaired Bogey himself comes trotting over. I think it’s because he gets sick of hearing me say “Candy…come here girl. Candy. Candy!” over and over again.

Food
Oh they both love their kibble (grain free Sweet Potato and Fish. What kind of fish? Damned if I know). Bogey had a slightly more discerning nose, despite the fact that I have seen him lick his feet, then where his balls used to be, then his feet again then try to give me a kiss. Candy literally will eat cat poo (sorry!).

I thought this was a sensory thing until one night last week when I spilled a container of brown rice. Bogey was in the room and saw it, went over and licked up a bit of it, then turned away, clearly disinterested. Candy on the other hand lapped every last kernel up, like fat girl on a diet only allowed 1 ounce (wait, that would be me). Bogey looked from Candy to me as if to say “What? She was a stray. What’s your excuse for eating that crap?”

Tonight while preparing my lunch they both sat in front of me, breathless with anticipation. I tossed a few pieces of Romaine lettuce to them. Bogey ate part of a leaf, again turning away. Candy ate every morsel on the floor. Then I tossed a piece of broccoli on the floor. Candy snatched the lone piece, ran under the dining room table and trotted back moments later with a floret on her nose. Bogey gave me the same disgusted look I never thought possible from a lab. I can’t say I wasn’t warned when it came to beagles.

Walking
Bogey loves to walk. He pulls me along as if there was a pot of gold at the end of our path, only pausing to pee every few minutes. For example, I took him on a short walk last week to see my dad at the office, less than a half a mile away from the house. By the time we got there my arm hurt from pulling him back, and I counted no less than four pauses to pee. Can dogs have an enlarged prostate?

As for Candy, she’s not so big on the walking, kind of like me when I’m not feeling the exercise thing. I’ll put the leash on her and oh yeah, she’ll go outside, but unless she sees a big juicy steak, she will plant herself in one spot and look at me with distain.

Night Time
I’ll admit, my motivation for getting another, smaller, dog was for nighttime. No, nothing strange, but while fostering my friend’s dog, a dachshund, I got used to the furry little foot warmer. Bogey will happily share my bed…well, sharing isn’t really the word. He takes up ¾ of my queen sized mattress, so he more like let’s me cling to the edge of it, so he has been relegated to the floor. Candy took quite a bit of coaxing to even sleep in my bedroom, forget sleeping in the bed. When I pick her up and put her next to me, she does what I call the “1950’s Housewife” routine. She will lay, stock still, paws in the air, looking at me as if to say “are we done cuddling now?”. As soon as I turn away she hops off of the bed and into her doggie bed on the floor.

I could go on, as any dog owner could, but I think I’ve demonstrated my two very different pups. And you know what? I wouldn’t trade either one of them in, with all of their personality tics, for the world.

Feeling Conflicted

Michael Vick, scumbag of the universe, cancelled on Oprah this week.

Supposedly, he cancelled because owners of the dogs he tortured (abused isn’t a strong enough word for what he did) wanted equal time. His reps said it was due to personal reasons.

Whatever.

Frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I feel icky about this POS getting time on a show like Oprah. I honestly thought she was classier than that. After all, this is a woman who changed the tenor of her show after skinheads had a brawl on her show. These skinheads, whose opinions are abhorrent to me, never caused the death of living, breathing beings to my knowledge. Perhaps they wished harm on those they hated, but, again and this is only to my knowledge, never electrocuted, drowned or forced defenseless beings to fight to the death. To think that she would give this POS air time, and for him would believe it would be a love fest, is shocking to me.

Yes, I did say that I thought it was refreshing when he admitted a few months ago that he wouldn’t have given up his dog fighting ring if he hadn’t been caught. I got some abuse for this, and perhaps now is the time for me to clarify. I don’t admire him (I really don’t want to type his name again). I was merely commenting on the fact that he didn’t trot out some B.S. line about always feeling conflicted, or blame another person, or the people around him for what he did. I was merely commenting on the fact that he admitted that what he did was wrong, and it took an intervention to get him to stop. Perhaps this is the line of a good P.R. person, but I stand by my original opinion.

Another point, and my father and I have had some words over this, POS has lamented the fact that the terms of his parole prevent him from owning another dog, and his daughter desperately wants one. My father feels that POS should be allowed the privilege (and as the owner of two dogs, trust me, it is a privilege despite the occasional trials and tribulations) of having a dog, as that pet would be the most looked after and pampered of canines.

I think his daughter should take this as a sign that she should petition for emancipation, no matter what her age is, if she wants a dog that badly.

Getting back to my original point, being conflicted about POS cancelling on Oprah, there is a part of me that is disappointed about him cancelling. I’d like to see him come face to face with at least one of his victims. It goes unsaid that I’d like to see said victim gnaw off his hand, but also for that victim’s person tell POS how his actions have affected them. I’d like for him to be confronted with the reality, the reality that he victimized a creature that didn’t have a voice, one that needed and will continue to need constant care and attention. One that may never fully heal from the torture endured.

For many fans of the Philadelphia Eagles, the ultimate redemption story would be for POS to bring home the Lombardi trophy, and Philly does love a good redemption story. I’d just like to see POS traded for someone who deserves to wear the jersey, and deserves to be the person of a loving dog, who will always feel safe, and will never have to experience what the victims of Bad Newz Kennels went through in their last days and hours. For that person, I’d ditch work for the parade down Broad Street.

And bring my rescue dogs without fear or need to explain.

General Musings

I don't have a specific topic I want to ramble about...haven't had a specific one (at least one that has come to me when I have my computer in front of me and it's not 2:00 am) for a while, so hence the lack of an update.

So, I'm going to go with it, and provide a general update in the life of moi. I'm actually going to treat this like a meeting minutes, so please forgive the "official" type headings. At least I'm not breaking out the bullet points.

Weight Loss
Still going strong on this point, and trying to avoid being my own worst enemy. To wit: have had a blockbuster past few weeks at WW, so much so that I'm not sure what the deal is. That said, last night my trainer sprung measurements on me. Side note here: my trainer is somewhere around 70 and has a crappy memory. I have to regularly remind him that I'm on WW, I run and that I'm training for a half marathon. Each time I tell him this, he reacts like it's news. Now I know that I'm not his only client, but he works part time, and the last time he measured me, he told me that was a record for him, so I'd like to think that something I say would stick with him. But I digress...

I had scheduled measurements (which BTW, I have to pay for, don't get me started) for 2/21, a day I have scheduled to take off from work. My plan was to go to the gym from a doctor's appointment I have scheduled that morning and face my date with the tape measure. Last night, after doing a 20 minute warm up on the stair master, I went over to the trainer's desk. He told me his 6:00 had cancelled, and he wanted to do measurements then and there. I sputtered.

My natural tendency is to dehydrate before I get on any type of scale, and I certainly wouldn't have done the StairMaster since I can practically feel my thighs plumping up from the exertion. He insisted. My results, while good probably by anybody else's standards, left me feeling deflated. For one thing, the scale at the gym had me weighing 3 lbs above my WW weight the week before, and somehow, despite losing everywhere else, my neck (huh?) grew by 1/4 inch. I wound up losing 17.5 inches and 21 lbs since November, and that includes Thanksgiving and the Christmas/New Years holidays, but I was disappointed. Crazy, right? Clearly I still have a long way to go with body acceptance and realistic expectations.


Food
I still look to food as my comfort. I'd like to say that when I'm upset my first instinct is to go for a run, or beat up a punching bag, but no, I want food. Last Saturday was a pretty upsetting day for me, for reasons I won't go into here. I spent the better part of the day crying if I'm honest. By the time I went to bed, I looked like I had collagen injected all over and a bad case of pink eye. My main instinct, after bursting into tears, was to eat. I took myself to lunch, ate a slice of pizza and at least half of a large order of fries (I'm being generous). I went to D&D and got a breakfast sandwich as the second part of my coping mechanism. It was low fat, supposedly low cal (I guess compared to my beloved bacon, egg & cheese) and tasted like crap. I actually tossed it after two bites. Fortunately, I caught myself and stopped. I cried some more, made some tea, and went to bed. I still wanted to stuff the feelings away, but I went with them, despite how miserable I felt.

Running
Still going strong here. I'm resolved to get up early in the morning, when I can, and get my daily runs over with before the day starts. This is good for me on two parts...one, I'm done for the day, and can do what I need to do after work rather than on the weekend, and two, I can wear my three to four inch high heels without worrying about my feet or calves aching while I'm trying to exercise. Ahh...vanity.

I'm making progress on the distance. I managed 5 miles last Friday and this past Sunday, and am hoping to do 5.5 tomorrow and/or this weekend. It sucks while I'm doing it, and I'm thankful for my DVR, but I feel a real sense of accomplishment once I'm done. I'm optimistic that I can get to 9 miles by the spring and do a 10k (roughly 6 miles) as a training exercise.

My New Body
My brain is still catching up to my body. A few weeks ago, I was at the supermarket, and being the good eavesdropper that I am overheard two people in line mention the gym I go to as a "meat/meet market". I chimed in that I go there, and one of the women said "you don't need to worry about the gym, you're skinny". I turned around to see if there was somebody standing behind me. I looked her dead in the eye I told her "Ma'am, this time last year, I weighed 230 lbs". She and the cashier, who went to my high school, both went slack jawed. The cashier went over to tell her colleague who came over to say she hadn't recognized me (she had waited on me many times before and was a customer of mine when I worked retail). My head was spinning.

The next day, at the request of some friends, I posted a few current pictures. I hadn't even combed my hair, had no makeup on, and was wearing my "booty shorts" (tight running shorts) and a throw away t-shirt that I wear when I run at home. The response was overwhelming. One person messaged me for tips. A few people told me I inspire them to exercise. It's a little much if I'm honest. I feel like Charles Barkley when I say this, but I'm no role model. Of course I'm flattered, but I don't feel like I'm doing anything exceptional. But hey, if somebody wants to start exercising or eating healthy because of me, who am I to discourage them and not cheer them along?

Life
Things in general are good here. As I alluded to, I experienced a bit of a loss recently, which I'm not ready to delve into, but I'm coping with it and moving on. Thankfully, I still have a job, and my family is healthy. Finances could better, but who can't say that?

So, that's it...the last two weeks in nutshell. Hopefully something more profound will come to me, and not just when I'm trying to go back to sleep after my pup has woken me up in the middle of the night! Until then...

Almost There!

I'm almost there! Almost six months and 65+ pounds (and God knows how much blood, sweat and tears), as of last Friday I was 20.8 pounds away from my WW goal weight.

That's not to say the work is done, not by a long shot. In a literal sense, my Weight Watchers goal weight is slightly higher than I'd like, but seeing as I can allocate the $10 a week I'm currently paying them to other avenues, I'm taking the highest goal weight I can at this point. Realistically, at 5' 3" (ok, 5' 2 1/2") 141 is a tad heavy, but I have a good feeling that it's sustainable (more on that later). For a sense of record setting-ness, I'd like to get down to just under 129 so I can say I've lost 100 pounds.

Numbers aside, I know that the real work is really just beginning.

I'm good at losing weight, REALLY good at gaining weight, but crap at maintaining it.

The last time I got down to "skinny for me", I freaked out. I couldn't shake the mentality of constantly losing, and I certainly couldn't get my head around maintaining, occasionally splurging, and gaining a rogue pound or two.

I make no secret of the fact that I abused my body. I ran 3.2 miles a day, and Curves 3 times a week, rain or shine, sick or healthy. I had surgery to repair a hernia and stubbornly stuck to Plan and three days post surgery humped a very heavy recumbent bike into the exercise area of the house so I could knock a few miles out.

When the doctor cleared me to run again, I did so immediately. I made excuses to avoid social situations, ran daily, and when I did splurge, I panicked. Let me clarify, my definition of a splurge then was an extra 100 calorie pack, or some extra fat free chips.

I treated it like a full-blown binge. I rammed my fingers down my throat, took some laxatives. Those mini-binges grew into bull blown binges. They included whatever I could find in the freezer - pizza rolls, ice cream, casserole. One shameful night, went from store to store looking for syrup of ipecac because I couldn't make myself barf, and I was terrified of seeing a gain on the scale. I realized I was out of control when I was "caught". I had gone out around 10:00 pm searching for the substance and in that time, my mother came downstairs for one reason or another. I wasn't in bed, wasn't in the kitchen and my car was gone. I came home and found mom sitting in the kitchen asking me where I was. I came up with some excuse, but I knew I was on borrowed time.

It went on for a few more days when I finally cracked. I called my sister...sitting on the floor of the kitchen after another binge, sobbing. I went to the doctor the next day who scolded me like the child I was acting like, and told me that if I didn't tell my family she would. My sister actually did the deed. I went into therapy where I remained for two years.

I've never actually talked about it with my parents, and it hasn't come up with my sister since, except in vague terms. Now that my goal weight in pending, I'm concerned.

I've made some progress. I have had days, hell, weeks, off program and I've trained myself not to get on the scale. I know it will go up, and I know how I will react. But soon I'll need to learn how to not be on lose mode. I'll need to accept that some days the scale will be up, others it will be down. I'll need to develop a healthy relationship with the treadmill.

How do you do it? Maintain a healthy weight, work out in moderation and stay sane? That's where the hard work begins for me. Screw losing. Maintaining is the real (and boring work). Give me the Biggest Maintainer NBC. There's your next big hit.

That is when I'll really need your support.