Hint Taken

December 24, 2010

I haven’t walked or done any real form of exercise in over a month. As much as I was looking forward to the weather cooling down, it only was a few weeks of walking outside before daylight became my enemy and as is often so easy, I lost motivation. Luckily I’ve only put 1 or 2 pounds back on, but I miss the feeling of getting off my ass and doing something.

Enter yesterday and a new foreclosure for us to clean out. To my surprise and wonder, included in the stuff the former tenant left behind was this:

Note: As much as I'd like to admit that's me, it's not

I’m taking this surprise windfall as a hint it’s high time to get my ass off the couch once again.


Merry, Merry

December 23, 2010

Before I fully succumb to a maple nut fudge coma, I wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas. I’ll see you back here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (translate sluggish and hungover) ready to start the New Year and the new ME!


Working out is working out

December 22, 2010

My current schedule, for what it’s worth and for those of you looking for a new routine. Click to embiggen.

Weights routine lifted from the Body Sculpting Bible for Women.


How the hell did that happen?

December 13, 2010

On Saturday I was at the local Y with Boy.  One of the decisions Dys and I (and mostly Dys) made recently was to pony up the dough for a family membership – because Boy loves to swim, and we don’t have regular access to a pool, and because all of us could afford to be more active.  Well, speaking personally, I’ve made a couple of trips with Boy in tow, and swimming laps is reminding me just how out of shape I have been recently.  Admittedly, though, the weight room and cardio room here beat the holy hell out of what the university offers.  Holy crap.

Anyhow, while on our way out of the combatives room where Boy let out a little stress by whacking some punching bags, we saw a digital scale.  Boy was interested.

Me, I’d weighed in at the doctor’s office earlier in the week.  I’d been reasonably pleased to weigh in at what I thought my weight would be – even though I was wearing a sweatshirt and a coat to boot.  (Have I mentioned that it’s been freekin’ cold?!?)  So I figured I was probably 5 pounds lighter than that, and that was reason to be excited.

But, what the hell.  I was dressed in workout clothes, which is how I usually weigh myself for exercise purposes.  So I stepped on the scale.

After a second or two, it stopped and displayed a number.

I got off the scale and got back on.  Same number.

I made Boy get on the scale and get off.  I got back on.  Same number.

I still maintain that the Y’s scale is a little light.  But the number that it displayed was one pound higher than the weight I always considered my ideal.  What I jokingly referred to in college  as my “fighting weight” – in the days when I’d have to gain weight to get there.

I guess a ton of stress is helpful in some ways, huh?  Heh.  Who cares.  I’ll take it!!

And use it as motivation to get back into the gym.  The numbers on the scale are still happier than the image in the mirror.  Time to move some of those pounds around!


Okay, I guess I did lose a LOT of weight…

December 12, 2010

Last night was our annual holiday block party. They kinda go to the extreme with the festivities with horses and a petting zoo and a fire truck and Santa zooming around on a Harley. I do have to admit it is fun and the kids have a blast. We always have something quick to eat and then we decorate cookies before heading out into the chilly night. I’ve learned that I can’t resist a fresh frosted sugar cookie, but I can resist cotton candy. And I’ve also learned that some of my neighbors are CRAZY!! This is the conversation that I had while waiting in the pony line.

Her: Oh, Hey! I didn’t recognize you! You have really lost a lot of weight!
Me: Hey! No, not really.
Her: Yes, you have.
Me: No, not really. I haven’t.
Her: Oh, yes, you have!
Me: I was running quite a bit for a while, but…No, not lately…
Her: Oh, you have!! I noticed the other day. I saw you guys out walking, and I said to Eddie, “Man, she’s lost a lot of weight.”
Me: Oh. I really haven’t.
Her: Yes. You have.
In my head: God, you friggin’ ponies, hurry up already!!!

So, I guess I have lost a lot of weight. No. I really haven’t.


Shameful

December 8, 2010

It has been so long since I’ve posted anything that I’m sure many of you are probably going to be saying….”who the hell is that?” But I take comfort in Kim’s friendship, as I have many times in the past, so I figure that I’m still in. Also, I was kind of expecting to see my name erased from the author list, but it was still there, so here I am!

I’m kind of in the same space I was when this started. I need to lose about the same amount of weight and I have slipped into a state of semi-activity. During the year, I was running and I joined a great gym. I was walking and doing Jillian. I was weight-lifting and doing the elliptical bike and steps at home. And I still do. Just not with any sort of consistency or real committment.

to add to my non-commitment, I also had a skateboarding accident that put me on the bench for a while. My knee and shoulder still hurt a little. And let me tell you, when you have a knee injury, it’s very easy to not do anything…because it hurts.

I KNOW committment is the “secret” ingredient that is missing. I also KNOW that I am a pushover to giving in to the excuses of a little bite won’t hurt, I’ll work out tomorrow, and the most evil of all, “It’s the holidays! It’s only once a year!” Except the holidays actually last about 3 months. 3 months is a long time to be off the wagon surrounded by goodies. Anyway, I’m ready to re-commit now and for the new year. I want to transform myself. I don’t want to be meek and say, I’ll be happy if….No, I want to friggin’ transform myself into BAM!! One hot mama! I want people to freak when they find out how old I am because I look that good. I want to wear cute clothes and not be layed up for month because I fall off the board. Frig. So in the next week or so I’m going to revise my plan and commit and make a vision board and pray and whatever else it takes to get it done. Thanks for having me back!


I’m Not Faking It

December 3, 2010

I like to shop the day-old bread display at my supermarket. You can usually get about half off whatever it is, whether it’s something sweet like pastries or something savory like an “asiago sun-dried tomato torpedo” (a long piece of bread shaped like…a torpedo). We never bought that kind of fresh-baked stuff at the supermarket when I was a kid, so buying it not-at-full-price as an adult is a nice middle ground between what’s normal to me and what seems like total decadence.

This past week I bought blueberry bread, which has been much more delicious than I expected. BF has taken to grabbing a piece before he goes to work. I usually eat some as a little afterword to my dinner, not quite dessert. But this morning it just looked so good that I took a piece to eat after I was done with my turkey sausage/egg croissant, managing to convince myself that it wasn’t sweet enough for anything averse – anything like what always happens – to happen.

And then, around 9:45, two hours (almost on the dot) after I’d eaten that blueberry bread, it happens. The shakes. The lack of concentration. The floaty feeling, the hot/cold/hot, the sweating. The instinct to stuff something, anything in my mouth, anything with substance. Hamburgers. Pasta with cream sauce. Something.

But years ago a doctor had told me that the way to cope with hypoglycemia is not to give in to that urge that tells you your body is completely empty, you have to fill it up, you have to fix this, put something in your pie-hole NOW, but just to infuse sugar into your bloodstream in the most efficient way possible. Apple juice is the best way I’ve found, but any other kind of fruit juice will do, or you can eat crackers or something else that converts easily to glucose in the body.

I look in my drawer: no apple juice box, where I usually keep one. I must’ve forgotten to replenish after the last time. There’s a box in my glove compartment, but that’s across the street and in the parking lot, which might as well be on Mars for how horrible I am starting to feel. My half-working brain feebly reminds me that I can go across to the hotel and buy some orange juice, probably, but I don’t want to go into the cold and I’m starting to feel like standing and walking a distance isn’t going to be very easy.

I go to the fridge. Somebody’s giant bottle of cranberry juice cocktail, half-empty, stands in the corner, surrounded by bottles of salad dressing that appear not to have been touched in months. The cranberry juice looks abandoned, as well. (I think it’s been there without a change in its liquid level since I started here in March.) I mentally apologize to whoever, get a glass, and drink some. And then some more.

Ah. There it goes. The shakes subside; my head clears; I feel capable of doing whatever’s necessary to get through the day, when minutes ago it all seemed insurmountable. The hunger fades, bit by bit. Last thing to go is the hot/cold/hot, but that disappears too, soon enough. I mentally thank the cranberry juice cocktail owner, whoever he or she may be. I doubt that this person would have begrudged me six ounces of juice in my moment of need, but I still feel a little bad taking what doesn’t belong to me without permission.

This is life with hypoglycemia. I always feel like an idiot telling people that I have limitations with it, like not eating sweet items in the morning (because this always happens, I always get sick a couple of hours later, no matter what), or like having to eat at certain times of day, or whatever. Hypoglycemia is obscure enough that it seems like a silly problem, and having to eat when I have to eat just makes me feel like a spoiled American. Plus, some of the time, if I don’t eat for a longer period of time, I’m fine; other times, I have to eat earlier or I’ll have an attack. It’s unpredictable, which makes it seem fake.

But unpredictable and minor as it may seem, it leads me to episodes like this morning, during which I felt totally horrible, and nothing could have kept me from drinking that cranberry juice once I’d discovered it. That’s an illness. It’s not my imagination, it’s not something I can only accommodate when it suits me. I just have to get better at standing up for myself, and for what the illness forces on me.

And at remembering to keep juice boxes in my desk.


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