Week 9

Tonight marks the start of C25K, Week 9. Also known as the last week. Or, alternately, "Holy crap in less than 2 weeks I need to be able to run 3.1 miles!"

It took some talking-to-myself to get out there tonight and brave a 30 minute run. I know it's only 2 more minutes than I ran all last week, but it seemed big. Monumental. Scary.

At 6 minutes into it, I was feeling good. "Ok, you did that. Now just do it 4 more times." I told myself.

At 12 minutes into it, I was still feeling pretty good. "My legs are burning, but I can do it. 3 more times."

At 18 minutes into it, I was starting to unravel a bit. "Ok, Katie, keep going. It does not matter if you're slow as long as you finish. But why is your butt jiggling so much? Do you feel that?" :::feels with hand and butt is indeed jiggling::: "What the hell? You've been running for 8 weeks and your butt just NOW starts jiggling like that? That's it! No more snacks for you! It's time to buckle down and stick to salads!"

At 24 minutes into it, I just tapped out, mentally. I went to that dark place no one wants to talk about, where the only thing going through my mind was numbers as I counted my foot falls and tried to predict how close I was to done.

At 29 minutes, when the podcast I used this week (which, by the by, I definitely recommend in terms of better music for running, and which came from here) notified me I only had 1 minute left, I was resolved and determined to finish it running. "You can do this. So what if your butt is jiggling and your time probably really super sucks. Just. Finish."

At 30 minutes, when I stopped running and started my cool down walk, I took back all the promises of salad and daily whippings to myself if I ate bad foods and felt nothing but sheer relief and accomplishment.

If I can do 30 minutes, I believe it's really possible I can finish this 5k running.

And to top it off? I logged my run when I got home, and I've finally, after 9 weeks, broken my own personal goal for speed. It's a pretty pathetic goal, really, but I truly don't give a shit. My goal was to get under a 12-minute mile, and tonight I finally did!

Tonight.

I had an emotional break about something I'd rather not put out there into the internet. I almost cried in a bad place to cry. I stopped on my way home at Sprouts to get something to cook for dinner. I threw wine, brownies, and chocolate covered almonds in my cart.

I didn't buy them.

I wanted to check out. To make my husband agree to going out to dinner. To order an appetizer and stop for ice cream on the way home. To drink enough wine to forget that I was supposed to run tonight.

I didn't do it.

I got home. I vented. I got hugs. I cooked healthy 'pizza' for the kids and me while Darrick ate leftovers. I skipped the wine.

I ran.

I finished week 8 tonight, and it was a tough run. My heart wasn't in it and that slip of time between 14 and 21 minutes was out to get me. But I kept running. One foot. Two foot. Feet, feet, feet.

I finished week 8 tonight.

I came home and thought about making Rice Krispie treats. I stared longingly at the circus cookies in the pantry. I imagined hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua.

I had some water and Greek yogurt.

Tonight I gave myself permission to be self-indulgent, but it wasn't with food. I complained. I curled under the world's softest blanket with my Luca and let her tell me about the games she made up in her head for us to play this weekend and who said what at school while I reveled in the peach of her cheeks and the silk of her hair. I took a hammer and chisel to some tile and subflooring. I read a long Dr. Suess book to my kids. I had tunnel-vision tucking in Rohan, lost in his sweet smiling eyes and the way he puts his hands on my cheeks and says, "Oh, you are MY mommy."

I haven't hit my stride in running. I don't love it yet. I am not dropping weight like I expected. Sometimes, I disappoint myself or others. But, at the end of the day, I didn't let myself let myself down.

Week 6.

Week 6 started tonight on the C25K program, and I kicked it off with new running shoes and new ear buds. Not a shabby way to train, really. This week is 3 different routines like last week was, starting with tonight: warm up, 5 minute run/3 minute walk, 8 minute run/3 minute walk, 5 minute run, cool down. Day 2 will be two 10 minute runs with a 5 minute walk between, and Day 3 will be a 25 minute run. Tonight actually wasn't too difficult, which I'm taking as a good sign. I have about 5 weeks before my first 5k, and with just 3 weeks of training left I'm feeling confident I am actually going to be able to do this.

Seriously, 6 weeks ago I was barely running 60 seconds without feeling like I wanted to lay down and cry. And now I'm doing 5-8 minutes without thinking twice. I really cannot get over that.

The next month I'm going to be focused on completing the training and then maintaining the runs so I can get up to 3.2 miles before race day. My focus is also going to be shifting back to how I eat. I've given myself permission to eat whatever I want the past few months, and I know from experience that I won't lose any weight doing that. Even  with running 3 nights a week, the weight isn't melting away like I want it to. This is nothing new to me. My husband is forever trying to convince me that I can eat whatever I want if I just work out regulrarly, and I'll lose the weight. But he's wrong. I've tried that before, and for me it won't work. I know I need to get back on track with eating better along with the exercise. And not just so I can lose weight; so I can feel better and run better and be a healthier woman and wife and mom as well.

I Did It.

Tonight, I finished Week 5 of C25K with a 20 minute run. No breaks to walk. No slowing. No giving up or giving in to the voice telling me that my calves were burning and my lungs were tired and anyways no one would know if I really ran all 20 minutes, would they? I won't lie about it, to myself or anyone else who cares: it sucked. This week's podcast has all 3 days overlapped, so that you download one podcast for 3 completely different runs. At one point, I was almost to the end and all I could think was, "You are so close. Just keep running." And then, on the haedphones came that damn voice saying, "If you're on Day 3, keep going! You have about 4 minutes left." At that moment I was thankful I'd decided to finish the last of the runs at 10:30 at night rather than waiting for tomorrow to do it in the daylight. Because, in the daylight, I would have needed to look around to be sure there were no small children in earshot before exclaiming out loud, to the universe, "Fuck you!"

Oh yeah, I said "Fuck you!" to the podcast. To my legs, on fire and lead-heavy. To Robert Ullrey and running and the universe in general.

But then, there was the moment at the end, when I got to celebrate completing 20 minutes of running. When I walked the neighborhood listening to Mumford and Sons and felt my legs tingling and my heart pumping and my face, flush with sweat. When I said to myself, "Fuck YOU, and your doubting. You did it. YOU did it!"

Five weeks ago, I couldn't even run 90 seconds without feeling like I needed to go home and ice my shins and sleep for 14 hours. Five weeks ago I dreaded every run. Six weeks ago, I wasn't even trying. And now? I did it.

Week 5.

Tonight I started C25K week 5, and as much as it pains me to write this, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected. And maybe...just maybe...I was hoping it would be bad enough to justify quitting? I'm not claiming it was easy by any stretch, but I walked out the door this evening expecting to want to quit, and that never happened.

My week 5 day 1 routine was a 5 minute warm up then 5 running/3 walking/5 running/3 walking/5 running, then a cool down. And while I ran two 5 minute stretches all 3 days last week, doing it 3 times tonight was quite a workout. But I did it, and I didn't struggle nearly as much with it this week as I did last week. I think I actually find the routines with less intervals but longer ones to be a bit easier to manage. Just like with walking, I get into a groove and am not anxiously counting down to when I get to stop or when I have to start again.

This week is unique in that each of the 3 run routines is different. Day 2 will be 8 minutes running and 5 minutes walking, twice. And day 3 is the scary monster at the end of the road with a 20 minute run with no breaks. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dreading those days, especially the last one. But at the same time I look at where I started, barely able to run more than 60 seconds straight without feeling totally winded and really sore, and I feel amazing and strong.

My coworker and I have talked quite a bit about the struggle to keep going, and the battling voices in our heads while training. The voice that says, "You are a fucking idiot and should just walk home right now, pour yourself some wine, and not get out of bed for the rest of the weekend." is just barely drowned out by the voice that says, "Bitch you are DOING this and you're amazing and you keep those feet RUNNING!" When it comes to motivation, I'm only mildly embarassed to admit that when I'm struggling to finish a run I've said to myself more than once, "You had a baby. In a plastic pool in your living room. If you can go through labor and deliver a human, you can do anything." And then, other times, I zone out on problems or issues I need to work out in my own head and have practice conversations with 'the enemy'. The only problem is that I'm not sure either of these tactics is going to work for 3.2 miles!

I should also note that I haven't weighed myself in 2 weeks. After 3 weeks of running I hadn't lost anything, so I sort of gave up on the scale. I'm giving myself permission to avoid the scale and focus on the non-scale victories until I hit the end of my training program. I'm about halfway through, and as long as I can maintain my routine through the holidays, I'm going to consider it a victory whether I lose weight or not.

But I can't lie: It would be nice if I stepped on the scale at the end of this and saw a loss.

Week 4 Begins.

Week 3 finished a little belated thanks to travel and difficult schedules for my husband and me, but by the last run it was definitely feeling manageable. I was even feeling optimistic going into week 4.

And then I did the first run, tonight. It consists of a 5 minute walk to warm up followed by 2 circuits of a 3 minute run/90 second walk then 5 minute run/2.5 minute walk. And it was really, really difficult. I'm not sure if it was the jump from 3 minutes being the long run to 3 minutes being the short one, the shorter recovery walks, or the move from about 9 minutes of running total to 16 minutes. Whatever it was, though, I was definitely dragging and feeling the pain.

The good news is this: I completed the whole thing tonight. The 3 minute runs honestly came pretty easily and I didn't even feel apprehensive about them like I was feeling last week. I might even call them easy. And while in the past I've found the cardio aspect to be the biggest challenge on the runs, this time my cardio felt great. However, my legs were like lead by the end of the first 5 minutes and by the end of the second 5 minute run I was dragging big time.

I'm finding myself alternating between being really proud about my ability to complete each night of training and the dread of what the coming weeks of training will bring. At this point, I can't even imagine running for more than 30 minutes to complete the 5k in January, but on the other hand I couldn't imagine running for 5 straight minutes a month ago either.

I'm not going to give up. I am so happy I have a goal in mind, and thankful to have people in my life who support me and even a few who are putting up with my crazy goal and training right along with me. I just can't wait for this to get easier.

Three.

I started week 3 of C25k tonight. This week is a 5 minute walk, 90 seconds each of walking and running, 3 minutes each of walking and running, repeat both intervals, then cool down. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the 90-second  runs were not hard at all. Last week I struggled quite a bit with those runs and with pain in my shins and calves after they were done. I expected tonight to be much worse since the 90-second runs were now the short ones, not the long ones. But it really was not as difficult as I'd feared. The 3 minute runs were pretty manageable too, though they did seem to take forever! I couldn't believe how much ground I covered in 3 minutes, which made it feel like I had run much longer.

I know this is a tough time of year to start this kind of program because I keep hoping the running 3-4 nights a week will make some weight start to melt off me, and it's just not happening yet. I know I need to try to look on the bright side, which is that I didn't gain anything over 4 days off work and Thanksgiving food galore. But it's hard not to get discouraged that the scale it not yet moving. I'm trying to be optimistic and believe that in the next week or two it will happen. I can already feel some difference in my legs - most specifically my calves - so I'm believing it will show everywhere soon.

Weak, Too.

Tonight I started Week 2 of training for January's 5K. Technically, I was supposed to start last night, but my husband wanted to take me to see Breaking Dawn. And when one's husband offers to take one to see a decidedly teenie-bopper chick flick when one and her husband are decidedly NOT teenagers, one must agree. So i skipped night 1 of training last night and did it tonight instead.

Week 1 was a 5 minute walk, then 8 intervals of 60 seconds of jogging followed by 90 seconds of running, then 5 more minutes of walking. By the end of the week, I was definitely comfortable witht hat routine and in no rush to change it up at all. So I was not looking forward to this week, which shifted my routine to 5 minutes of walking, 6 intervals of 90 seconds running and 2 minutes walking, and another 5 minutes of walking.

It wasn't fast. It wasn't easy. It sure as hell was NOT graceful. But I did it.

I think, however, I may be the only poor soul in the world who could GAIN 3 pounds after a week of cooking healthy meals at home and starting a running routine.

Either way. I'm moving forward.

Colorfied.

The reason I am training using Couch to 5k? The Color Run! Not much could get me off my ass faster than the idea of being pelted by soft powder in rainbow hues. That's pretty much my dream come true. And to do it on my birthday, joined by friends? Perfection.

With week 1 of training over, however, I've realized I have really far to go. The good news is I'm able to complete the training using this podcast. it's a 5 minute brisk walk for warm-up, then alternating 60 seconds of running with 90 seconds of brisk walking 8 times, then 5 more minutes of walking to cool down. I love that I just hit play and the music starts while someone orders me around and tells me when to do what. It's so mindless, which is exactly what I need. If I had to use a stopwatch or a pedometer or any other tool, I'd be a lost cause.

My body, however, hurts. It's mainly my feet, which could probably use some new shoes fitted to my particular needs. But other than the pain, I am really finding myself looking forward to moving on to the next week. The first week definitely challenged me and pushed me out of my comfort zone, so I expect the second week is going to majorly suck ass. But I'm ready!

Forward.

2011. I knew from the start it was going to be a pisser. Shooting in Tucson. Vomiting up everything but my pancreas on my birthday. An IRS letter telling us we owed over $500 in unpaid taxes we didn't know we'd missed paying to kick off summer break. Not to mention hurricanes, tornadoes, and tsunamis worldwide. I think 2011 had it in not just for me, but for people all over the world.

But 2012? I predict a banner year. Already, the tide has started to shift for not only my little family, but several people I know and love. And I couldn't be MORE excited to usher in a new year very, very soon.

To kick it off right, I'm going to celebrate my birthday next year by completing my first 5k. Now, please not, I DO NOT run. As in, hate it. As in, would rather do pretty much ANY other type of exercise. As in...guuuuh. But I've always wanted to be the kind of girl who DOES run, so in honor of that dream I agreed to joining a team when my friend invited me. She promised I didn't HAVE to run it, but could walk part or all if I wanted, but I'm always up for a challenge. So run it I will. I began my training this week, and I'm optimistic and also scared entirely shitless about the prospect of completing the training and getting my big old butt out there on my birthday to run. But what has really inspired me, more than the idea of finally getting myself motivated to run a 5k and more than getting older and wanting to accomplish this one little thing to ring in a new year of life, is how the people around me have rallied. My friend invited me to join her team. And when I told some co-workers about it, they decided to run it too. When I told them I'm doing Couch to 5K for training, they agreed to do it at the same time, so we could compare notes and commiserate. My husband is cheering me on and encouraging me to train.

And then, there was the first night of training. We got to the park with the plan being I would run to the podcast while my husband took the kids to the playground, then we'd meet and eat our picnic dinner. As I settled in to my warm-up walk, I realized that (a) I'd somehow deleted the podcast AND all the music except one album and (b) the battery on the iPod was almost dead. Not willing to give up, I put the one album (thankfully one I enjoy) on shuffle and used the iPod stopwatch to time my walking and running intervals. And then my iPod battery died, just as I was about to run past 2 teenaged girls. In the sudden silence, I heard my labored breathing and my loud foot falls as I jogged past them. And I also heard them. I couldn't pick up exactly what they said, but I can only imagine it was something in the vein of "Hope that fat chick doesn't die before she gets back to her car." Or perhaps, "Look at her big old ass jiggling while she tries to run." Or even,  - - -

But then I decided to change my outlook. My ass isn't bouncing, it's clapping in appreciation of my efforts. This body made two beautiful children and sustained them well beyond the womb. It's not perfect at all, but in 10 or 15 years those cute teenage girls will probably look in the mirror and see a reflection more like mine than like the one they see today.

I finished that night's training and moved on to day two. I have one day left and then :poof: like that I am on to week 2. And before I know it, we will be celebrating Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then the new year, our anniversary...and then the run. And I am excited to start 2012 in that way.

More, Please.

Broccoli from Bountiful Baskets.
Squash from my mom's garden.
Frozen corn.

Sauteed over low heat with olive oil until tender, then heat turned high to brown the edges of the veggies.

Insanely good.

Snapping Out Of A Funk.

Ever had a moment of clarity that you really didn't want to face? Mine was last week, when one of my biggest professional achievements was married to one of the biggest hits to my ego.

In my line of work, I interact quite a bit with a national group that does a lot of research and public policy issue analysis. They frequently release reports with state or local level data, and last week was no different. They released a report, and I initiated the process of having a press release sent from our agency regarding the local/state impacts noted in the report. It wasn't pretty, and it needed to be shared. The press release got immediate coverage from local radio stations and even local news stations, which chose to interview families impacted by the issue covered.

And then, there was a request from our local PBS station for someone to appear on their evening 'interest' program where current issues, politics, economy, etc. are discussed with a host. We got the email inviting us and my heart sank into my stomach. I can write 100 press releases and talk to radio interviewers, but ask me to be on TV and I am instantly 13 all over again.

I worry about how I will look in general. I wish I'd had more warning so I could do my hair and wear my most flattering outfit. I cross my fingers that someone will do our make-up before we go live. I want to run far, far away. I am afraid of saying the wrong thing, sure. But more than that I am afraid I will look horrible and my voice will sound horrible.

It shames me to write that paragraph, by the way. To admit that instead of feeling proud of this moment I was vainly worried about how I would look. But there was no time for my 13 year old self to get out of going on TV, so within a few hours my boss and I were taping the segment to air that night. We taped at 5:45 and it aired on our local PBS affiliate at 7 p.m. In a way, I was relieved that it happened so quickly because it meant less time to worry and obsess and stress.

I got home just as the show was starting. Knowing we were the final segment, I set my DVR and turned off the TV to have dinner with my husband and play with my kids. An hour later we decided we couldn't wait to watch it any longer, so we hit play and sat back.

"Oh no. OH no no no!" <--- my reaction to the first screen shot of me on TV. I couldn't hear a word I was saying because all I could think about was how my cheeks looked huge and my hair looked awful and my shoulders could easily get me a spot on the high school football team my husband helps coach. The world went into slow motion as I wondered how many people I know had seen it and whether they thought I looked as horrible as I thought I looked. And then I started to cry.

Meanwhile, my husband didn't know what to say to me. Luca had already lost interest and gone in the other room. And just as Darrick tried to convince me that I didn't look as bad as I thought I looked because really I didn't look like that in person anyhow (no, really...he was trying to make me feel better...) Rohan turned to the TV. Smiling, he ran up and put his hands on the screen and said, "That's my mama!".

And I cried some more.

The next day I went to work and couldn't remember anything I'd said on the show the night before. Within an hour of getting to work, I had over a dozen emails from people with whom I work, applauding the show and our success in covering such an important topic. And while I should have been basking in the glory of all the accolades, I just kept thinking of how all these people had seen me on TV looking like THAT. I cringed when I realized the link had been sent to our entire Board of Directors and posted on Facebook.

I made self-depriciating jokes. Because it's better to be the one to make the first crack than to be blindsided by others, I made fun of myself. My favorite joke below the link on Facebook when my sister posted it:

"Do not be alarmed, friends! It only LOOKS like I am planning on eating Ted. No hosts were consumed or otherwise harmed during filming."

My sister deleted the link. Apologized for not asking me if it was ok to share first. And it finally hit me: Shut. The fuck. Up.

My boss has been in her position for over 8 years, and this was her first appearance on this show. And she was there because of my press release inspiration and my knowledge. The host? He interviews everyone from politicians to leaders in business to non-profit executives. And he didn't once doubt that I belonged there, right beside them. And when I dared listen to the audio without watching the video I had to confess: I kicked some major ass. I was knowledgeable. Fast on my feet. On message and on point and a pretty awesome advocate for people who normally don't have a voice. Hell, I didn't even sound OR look nervous.

And then a text from a good friend sealed the deal. She knew about my insecurity and she said just the right thing to remind me of what's important. And most of all, this friend who I admire and look up to so much said she was proud of me.

So why couldn't I just be proud of myself????

It took me a few days to move past that visceral reaction to seeing myself on camera. Honestly? The me on TV must have 30 pounds on the me I see when I look in the mirror. It was a wake-up call, but at first I didn't take it as such. At first? I was defeated. I've lost nearly 20 pounds. I eat well. I work out 4 days a week. I see THAT girl in the mirror. On TV, I saw the girl 20 pounds and years of couch-potato-ness past. So I gave up a little. I couldn't seem to get off the couch or step away from unhealthy snacks. I let myself wallow for a few days.

Then I thought of my daughter. My son. Myself. I thought of what it said to them that I couldn't stop focusing on how I looked for long enough to celebrate this professional victory. I thought of what it said to ME that I was letting my perceived shortcomings overshadow what was not ONLY a professional but also a personal victory. So I didn't look thin and gorgeous! I sat my butt in front of a camera with my boss and held my own on TV. I knew my shit and I knew it well.

I had to make a decision, and though it was a struggle I decided to use this experience as inspiration, rather than letting it derail me entirely. I got back on track and back on the wagon with my healthy eating and exercise. I promised myself there WILL be a 'next time' I'm on that show, and that I'll be proud of how I look AND what I have to say that time. I even shared the link with a few people and tried not to do the self-depriciating jokes and cringing.

I'm a work in progress. If I've learned one thing through the years, it's to try to be as kind to myself as I would be to a friend. And that's often the hardest lesson. Patience isn't always my forte and neither is kindness to myself.

The Wagon

I not only fell off the wagon this past week, I got run over by it and then dragged for a few days. It was a combination of feeling defeated by slow progress (or no progress?), getting sick, and a schedule at work that hasn't given me any kind of break.

But those are all excuses. Because the truth is I may have had obstacles in the way of best-laid plans, and I may not have been able to work out as much as I wanted to, but there's no reason I couldn't have at least stayed on that damn wagon.

But the week is done. And so are my excuses. I started this morning with an awesome healthy breakfast and worked out during naptime and snacked on fruit. And I'm ready to take on a new week.

This week, I plan on dragging the wagon behind me.

The Abusive Boyfriend In the House

I have a confession to make. I have an abusive boyfriend. He lives with me. He has for years. He takes up both physical and emotional space, and no matter how many times I promise to quit him, he whispers sweet-nothings and makes empty promises and I go back to him. Sometimes several times a day.

He's an asshole. Mostly because he tells me lies, but sometimes just because he tells me the truth I don't want to hear.

And yet, I keep going back.

It's time for me to admit the truth: I have no intention of quitting this relationship, even though I know it would probably be best if I did. Instead, I let him live with me, and I depend on him to tell me everything from what I should eat today (or shouldn't have eaten last night) to how I should feel about my body and what my mood for the day will be.

It gets worse, though. I think my abusive boyfriend is having an affair behind my back! That's right, the cad is a jerk AND a cheat. And the culprit is a lady I know well.

My abusive boyfriend and his lady like to team up against me, confusing and confounding me on a monthly basis. They tell me one day that I look great ("Your butt is SO getting smaller!") and the next day they chastise me and call me a fatty ("Dude...put down the trail mix and ice cream, chubs!"). And then, a day later, they lure me back with skinny promises and those darn sweet-nothings ("I'm sorry, I didn't even SEE you there. You're getting so skinny!!").

My abusive boyfriend is my scale. I love him, in spite of his one missing foot and his bad attitude. In spite of his inconsistencies (up a pound?!?! Down THREE!!!! Wait, up 0.5???). In spite of his lies (I'm totally getting skinnier!!). Mostly in spite of his truths (Yep, shouldn't have had Mexican food the night before weigh-in!).

I know I should toss him. Take out his batteries. Make him break up with his lady so the two aren't secretly meeting up one week out of every month to screw with my mind and my vision of reality. But despite many, many efforts over the years, my actions speak louder than my words. I am not going to break up with him. I am going to have to accept that he's not always right (Hello, men everywhere, right?) and that he lies when I need the truth and tells the truth when I wish it was just a lie. I am going to have to learn not to let him control me, rather to use him as inspiration and motivation instead of as a mirror of who I am and what I am worth.

If I can have one kind of revenge, let it be this: at least I make him live in the bathroom.

That's Life.

This week was not a banner week for me in terms of WW. I did well with the eating and exercise, but sort of blew it all by going out to mexican food with friends who were in town for the week.

Here's how I dealt with that: I ordered a skinny (125 calorie) margarita and chicken street tacos (under 500 calories). And I ate chips. And, I went to the meeting today knowing I was probably going to see a gain. And I did. And you know what? I am ok with it. As my meeting leader said to me today, "That # isn't the truth. Your week was the truth." And my week was something I was pretty proud of. For this to be a lifestyle for me, I have to be able to splurge on mexican food and a margarita and not stress over it showing on the scale.

Look, everyone wants to get on the scale and see a smaller number every week. I'm no different. But I also am willing to accept that life happens and I'm not going to give up a night out with friends for a smaller number in the morning. Also, I'm proud of the dinner choice I made. In the past, I would have ordered up a bean burrito with a side of sour cream and a normal margarita and eaten endless chips. Was I a dietician's dream? No way. Was I a healthier version of me? Yep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

For workouts, I've been mixing up netflix DVDs that you can get with just a streaming membership. It costs me something like $7/month and I watch 4-5 a week, which is close enough to free for me. I mix up boot camp, pilates, yoga, dance/salsa/zumba style, and general cardio workouts. There are some days when I've worked out the night before and wake up feeling it in my legs and glutes and abs and shoulders. And there are other mornings when, the night before I got super sweaty and I wake up in the morning not even feeling it and wondering whether or not it was worth it. It's always worth it. I might wake up tomorrow and wish I'd said no to pretzel M&Ms, but I know for a fact I won't wake up tomorrow and regret the workout I did tonight.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

On a different note, I've had several moments this year when I've done something kind for someone and been the recipient of random acts of kindness in return. Like the time I bought the coffee and donut for the guy behind me in the Dunkin drive through, and a week later the man in front of me bought my coffee at Circle K. I don't do it for the reward. Or the praise. Or the hope that someone will 'get me back' for it. I do it because it's the kind of thing the person I strive to be would do. The person I strive to be would see the girl dressed in heels and a pencil skirt looking paranoid over her shoulder as she went into Circle K and a disheveled man followed her, and would go inside and offer that other girl a ride. The girl I want to be would hold open the door for the mom with a double stroller who's obviously stressed and struggling to get through as not 1 but THREE men stand behind her and wait impatiently for her to get out of their way. The person I hope I am would see a girl in line in front of her at the gas station have her card declined, then see that same girl and her young son sitting in the parking lot looking lost and would insist that she take $5 to get enough gas to get home.

But more than doing things because they are examples of the person I want to imagine myself into being, I do them because I want my kids to see. I want to be an example of how we treat others: with kindness and respect and humor and heart. I want them to know that it's ok to help someone you don't know who looks scared and in need. That it's kind to lend an able hand to someone struggling. That sometimes $5 to a mom whose car window is duct-taped up might make the difference in her week. And when I see the way my kids think and feel and process, I have a true glimmer of hope that it's working and paying off. I took them both to Goodwill yesterday in search of a bookshelf for their books. It was almost lunchtime and they were restless. And Goodwill is a haven for curious hands and wild toddlers. Maybe it was the novelty of having a weekday off with both kids, alone, but my patience was at a maximum and they were doing such an amazing job of listening to my 'rules'. As we headed down an aisle, a woman stopped me. "Mom," she said, "I like how you talk to those kids. And I can tell they have good parents because they are just so well-behaved. It makes this old lady so happy to see you young parents doing things right and raising up your kids with kindness." I almost cried. We talked for a few minutes and I thanked her from my heart for taking the 20 seconds it took to brighten my entire week.

Words have power. Kindness has power, and it grows exponentially.

Facing Reality.

I really, really thought I could lose weight if I was diligent about following Weight Watchers. I've never been a particularly unhealthy eater, but I tend to fall back on fast food and sweets when it's hot/I'm too tired to cook/I had a long day/I'm hungry NOW/I could really use something delicious to cap off a meal. So, naturally, I assumed that I could cut down on those fast food runs/late night freezer dives and the pounds would simply drop off.

That only worked for the first 4 pounds. Literally, changing my eating habits dropped 4 pounds immediately. Everything after that has come off slowly, through dedication and some self-discipline. We've all but 100% cut out fast food, opting only for the ocassional weekend run to McDonald's for breakfast or Kids' Night at Chick Fil A. And even when we do that, I'm eating the breakfast sandwich with no meat and with half the bread or a salad with grilled chicken and just a few stolen waffle fries. I've replaced my ice cream and cookies with Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches and smoothies made of fat free yogurt, ice, and fruit.

And still...the scale ever so painfully inches down by ounces.

Finally, I admitted to myself that I was either going to have to make another big change OR I was bound to give up, go back to eating whatever I want, and gain back what I'd lost plus a few bonus pounds. So, the big change came a few weeks ago when I bit the bullet and started working out again. It started as a little challenge with a good friend to help keep us accountable. I expected one or both of us would lose steam and next thing you know we'd probably find ourselves helping each other make excuses. In other words, I underestimated us.

I've done challenges before. I've tried to lose weight or exercise with friends before. And it never worked. Because there was never accountability and there was never honesty. AND I always felt like I didn't have to keep up my end of the bargain because whomever I was challenging was in it to win it, not in it to be successful together. That's the key for me this time: we're challenging each other to succeed together, not so someone can win.

In the past 3 weeks, I've worked out 3-5 times a week. It's not easy. It's not always fun. The other night I tried my best to keep up with some insane Netflix streaming version of zumba that was so fast-paced and complex I ended up frustrated and almost crying. I sweat a lot. Sometimes, I catch site of my reflection in the back door window and I am embarassed with myself. I have to work out late at night, and I end up compromising my sleep for the workout, which probably has its own set of potential problems. Some nights, I would rather go to bed early and read than get up off the couch after everyone else is tucked in and snoozing.

But I do it. I get up and make a fool of myself in front of no one but me and the ladies on TV. I sweat. I curse when I can't keep up. I feel it the next day in my glutes or my thighs or my abs or my arms. I report back to my friend, telling her what I loved and hated about the workout for the night and deciding whether to keep the DVD in my queue or give it zero stars.

And the next night, I do it again.

Last weekend, over the 4th of July, our TV sat in our garage and our stove sat in our backyard waiting to be replaced by a new stove. We went out for almost every meal. I didn't do a single workout. I did, however, spend hours a day sweating and installing flooring. And still, by the time Wednesday's WI came around, I expected a maintain or a gain. I was ok with either, knowing I hadn't stayed on track and I hadn't followed plan. But I HAD worked out 4 times throughout the week, and loss or no loss I was counting that as a success.

I lost almost a pound last week. And you know what? I was happy. I feel motivated to keep going, and optimistic to weigh in this week. And despite my natural inclination toward laziness, I'm willing to admit that my husband (and you, anonymous) was right and exercise might really have been the missing piece to my weight loss puzzle.

This Body: Will I Ever Be Happy?

"When in your life have you most liked your body?" my co-worker asked me.

I had no answer, at first. I thought back of the many versions of my body over the years. Me in high school, insecure and sure I didn't have a boyfriend because I didn't have a teeny waist. Me in college, packing on the weight and then picking away at it with Weight Watchers and hour-long sessions on the workout bike while watching Paradise Island. Me now, so uncomfortable and ungainly in my body that I sometimes find myself standing talking to someone and realize my hands have subconsciously gone in the pocket of my jeans and are pressing into the fat on my hips. Me, in junior high, lying on the floor on my back and feeling how my tummy still jutted above my hipbones while noticing that didn't happen for some of my friends and feeling jealous of their concave bellies. Me, freshman year of high school, awkward and chubby in my ill-fitting one-piece, swimming with my tall thin friend in her bikini and my curvy friend in her Speedo with the very high cut legs.

"Never," I answered her. And instantly I felt like a failure. For never loving my body. And for never doing something to really change it. "I came close, once," I said, "around the time I got married. I was ok with my weight, but I needed to tone up. It never happened."

Me, 3 years after our wedding and about 15 pounds over wedding weight. Honestly? I'd settle for being that size right now, and at the time I thought I needed to lose about 20 pounds.

How sad is that??? How awful is it that there's not a single point in my life when I can remember really, truly loving my body. Aside from the few months around my wedding day when I was almost to my goal weight and working out 3-5 days a week, the only other time I liked my body at all was when I was pregnant with Luca. I was a bit self-conscious as my boobs grew a cup size in the first 6 weeks and my belly looked more 'too much burrito' than 'cute little baby' for the first half of my pregnancy. But I also really, really loved being pregnant. I loved that belly, and I felt pretty good about what my body was capable of doing.

Just about done with my pregnancy with Luca. This was probably about 37-39 weeks, and other than looking super exhausted I feel good about that body.

The thing is, this co-worker? She's 5'6" and a size 4-6. She is adorable and has almost no fat on her body. And when I posed the same question back to her, her answer was almost the same as mine. "Never," she said to me. "When I was skinnier I wanted more curves. When I was in high school I hated being pale and flat chested. Now, I wish I could get rid of my thighs and tone up."

I guess I forget, that somewhere deep inside most women have body insecurities. Sometimes I struggle about talking openly about my journey to get healthier and lose weight. I worry what people will think of me. I worry I am opening myself up for other people to criticize and analyze. And then I remember: I'm no different than the average woman, whether that woman is a size 4 who longs for more womanly curves, a size 14 who wishes she was her high school size 10, or a size 24 who just wants to be able to ride coach in an airplane without feeling the armrests pinch into her hips and the scorn on the faces of the people in her row. We all struggle, in our own unique ways.

This week, I decided to do something just for me. Something that will make me feel better about my body. After everyone is in bed at night, I spend 30-60 minutes working out (THANK YOU streaming Netflix on my hubby's X Box!), and then I spend 10 minutes or so just reading quietly, in a quiet house. It's only been a few days, but already I'm remembering how much I really DO enjoy spending time caring for my body and waking up the next day feeling it in every muscle group I forgot I had.



Sabbatical for Mary Sunshine.

I'm taking a temporary hiatus from optimism. Not in general, in life holistically, but when it comes to weight loss. God, I am so flipping SICK of talking about weight loss. I have been struggling and struggling to lose weight for so much of my life now that it makes me physically repulsed to think about it. How much more time am I going to spend obsessing over my body and the scale and the size on the tag and what I am eating vs what I am not eating? And, probably more to the point, how much time am I going to spend doing all that obsessing and still not seeing the results I think I should see?

I went to WI today, and I maintained. Now, the world of WW would tell you that maintaining is a success, because to maintain > to gain. Sure, sure, I get that. And of course I'd rather stay the same than gain. But does that mean I have to be happy to have maintained? Because, you know what? I don't want to be happy about maintaining. I am feeling pissed and frustrated, and rather than burying those feelings under false positivity and optimism, I want to embrace pissed and frustrated.

If I hadn't been trying, really truly trying, I would be more accepting of no loss. But this week? This week I counted my points, stayed in range ocassionally using a flex point or two (you get 49 for the week, which can be used in 1 day or over the week...or not at all). For fuck's sake, I even ignored National Donut Day even though a boston creme and an apple fritter (yes, I said AND) from the best donut place in town sounded like heaven (warm, soft, chewy, golden, delicious, frosted heaven) on a plate. I went out for Mexican food and ordered a SALAD. Where is my reward for that?!?!

Don't get me wrong: I am not quitting WW or throwing in the towel and diving into a gallon of ice cream, tempting as those options may be. I'm just taking a break from trying to put on a happy face, and using my piss-poor outlook on this whole endeavor to my advantage. How? Well, if you didn't already know this about me, you should know that nothing propels me quite like blind fury. And blind fury is what I am feeling (toward myself? toward food? toward the scale? toward the fates that handed me this body instead of this one or this one or even this one who is ROCKING the body confidence despite being a 'bigger' girl). (PS: Did you know if you Google image search 'full figured women in Hollywood' Jennifer Lopez and Scarlett Johansson come up? Is this for real? Now I am even MORE pissed.) So I'm using it to make myself do better, be better, and get these stupid pounds to go away for good. I WILL hit my goal, dammit.

But in the meantime, I'm done with mantras about how any loss is a good loss and it takes time and this is the healthy way to do it and nothing tastes better than skinny feels. It's not that those things are untrue, it's just that they are not helping me. Want me to win at bowling or pool? Piss me off. Want a clean kitchen in 15 minutes or less? Pick a fight with me and leave me steaming mad. Here's hoping this same thing works for weight loss, because I am pissed off and not giving up on myself without a fight.

The Big 5 and Planning to Succeed.

It took me 17 weeks, but I've hit the elusive 5% weight loss marker. And you know what?? I feel amazing about it! I snuck a peek at the scale last night, knowing I usually weigh about 2 pounds less in the morning than I do at night, and based on the reading before bed, I expected to lose another 0.5 this week. Which, honestly given the passage of Easter and the 8 tons of candy now in our house, I would have been happy enough about.

(No, really. 8 tons of candy is hardly an exaggeration. This is about 1/4 of the candy we got for Easter, with an apple sitting next to it for size comparison. I brought this into work so my co-workers can be the lucky recipients of all that sugar and all those calories!)

So when I stepped on the scale this morning and saw I'd dropped 2 pounds, I was in shock. I jumped off the scale, zeroed it out, and got back in, closing my eyes. Nervously, I opened them and peeked down to see the number was the same, and I had indeed lost 2 pounds.

I didn't do anything differently from last week, other than catching a cold over the weekend that left my tastebuds numb, making it super easy to skip the candy. It's also getting a lot easier for me to wake in the morning, pack a healthy lunch, and make portion control and out-to-eat menu choices that are healthy without being tempted. Case in point: on Friday night we went to get Mexican food with my in-laws and rather than a beany-cheesy concoction and a side of sour cream, I ordered veggie enchiladas (almost cheeseless) and just ate the side of beans and some chips that came with it. On Saturday, I worked at an event where lunch was provided, and I went ahead and got a cookie off the tray when offered, but only after eating a veggie sandwich with no mayo or cheese. And, honestly? I didn't miss the side of sour cream or the mayo. And I did enjoy the beans and chips and cookie.

In an effort to make good on our plans to spend less money and eat healthier foods, I totally broke out of my comfort zone this weekend when it came to grocery shopping. I hit the ads first, making a list of each store and their sale items that we normally buy. I figured out which store had the most/best deals for our needs. And then I peeked into the fridge and pantry and freezer and made mental notes of what we already had. For less than $150, I stocked us up with enough food to make 10 large meals, meaning we have food for at least 14 dinners (figuring in a few leftovers here and there) and I have food for all my lunches for almost 2 weeks. ($150 might not sound great for 10 meals - $15/meal - but there were non-dinner items on the grocery list and most of the dishes we'll make will feed us for more than one meal.) When I got home from shopping, the kids and Darrick were all napping, so I quickly made a list of all the meals we can easily whip up with the ingredients I'd purchased + what was already on hand, and tacked it to the front of the fridge. I've always wanted to be better at grocery shopping: get better deals, buy healthier foods, have meals in mind while shopping. And I think we made that happen this week.

Other than losing 2 exciting pounds and getting past my 5% hurdle this week, I've noticed another pleasant surprise which I think is directly related to the foods I've been eating: I look healthier. I could swear my skin looks better, my hair is falling out less, and my eyes seem clearer. I might be imagining this, but I keep telling myself it must be real because I know I am eating more healthy veggies and fruits and less fast food and processed foods. It does pay to take care of your body from the inside out!

Embracing the Flex.

Last week, I stepped on the scale and had only lost 0.5. I know, rationally, that any loss is a success and should be celebrated, but I've been on Weight Watchers now since January, and these 1/2 pound losses are killing me. Explain to me how I can gain 4 pounds in a weekend and then stay on plan and lose only 1/2 a pound in 7 long days?

So when I stepped on the scale that morning and only lost 1/2 a pound, I threw an adult tantrum. Which is to say: I bought Munchkins at DD and ate about 6 of them. I rationalized it as I 'deserved' them and they were only 1 point each anyhow.

Mistake #1: Munchkins are 2 points each. I'm not sure if this is the 'new' Points Plus system where carbs count, or if they've always been that many, but I'd have sworn they were only 1 point each. So my '6 point splurge' was actually 13 points. Why 13? Because with food like this (candy, Munchkins, and other foods you eat single servings of and count in terms of quantity, not weight or size) may be 2 points each, but if you eat a certain number, the points add up faster.

Mistake #2: I don't need to justify a 'treat' by saying I 'deserve' it. I need to build these things into my week so they don't derail me and I don't end up mentally sabotaging myself.

So as I sat staring at my computer screen and feeling disappointed I'd allowed myself to overindulge on something I did't ever enjoy (much), I realized I needed to adjust my attitude.

So I decided to embrace the Flex. AKA: Eat some of my flex points and not completely freak out in fear.

The result: I lost 1 pound this week. So embracing the flexies it is!!