How the hell did that happen?

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…

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

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

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.

Taking note

Okay, so I’ve not been the most dedicated of people to my fitness regimen in the last … well okay – ever.

I have been keeping with some regular attempts in the last couple of weeks though, so go me.  I haven’t gone nuts, hasn’t been daily or even every other day.  I have, though, tried for a solid 80% of the time to pay better attention to the food and drink that I’ve been putting in my body, drinking more water, not eating as late (well, maybe I should say “as close to when I go to sleep”) – along those lines.

It also has to be noted though that I’ve also taken to sucking down nigh a bottle of wine per week for each of those weeks.  Granted, it’s some great wine, but still – a bit out of my norm for alcohol consumption since, uh, freshman year of college?

So imagine my giggle today to see that I’d dropped 8 pounds in the last 2 weeks between doctor’s visits?

Apparently I need more wine, more chair dancing, less stress, good food, and more FUN in my life.  Who knew?  🙂  It’s a small victory, but today, it felt bloody fantastic.  Not only was a due a little victory, but it was an affirmation of just trying to be better to myself, to actually care for myself, and seeing that pay off.

Go me.  🙂

 

Wake up!

As I sat here finding myself sliding down in my chair (again), my eyelids gaining weight faster than the rest of me (oh, har!), I thought for some reason about one of my favorite movies, “Over the Hedge.”  I’m on a ‘fun’ kick recently, so I’m not all that surprised that this one popped up from the memory banks.

A few clicks later and then repeated clicks to keep going, I was chair dancing – of a variety that absolutely qualifies for aerobic activity; I will be sore later, lol.  Those in cubicle-ville probably can’t do what I just did, but if not, maybe it would be a fun one for some of you (*cough* ladies) to add to your playlists or just to dance around the house to when you feel the need.

In my case, let’s hear it for working at home, and finally, my vastly uneven basement floor finds some usefulness!

Happy Tuesday to You!

(Not for nothing here, but do y’all realize that I just added “Fun” as a category here?  Hmm.  Maybe we need a collective mental adjustment…?)

Neglected Nikes

I’m actually nervous to check and see when my last post here was. So I’m skipping it. Yesterday I finally managed to post on my own blog, describing how the past month flew by without the benefit of my taking time to appreciate it and of course the diet/exercise combo was the first casualty of the time-suck.

Why is that? I’m not sure if it’s that way for everybody, but with me, if there is an interruption in my routine or God forbid more than one, something in my tiny brain breaks and all of a sudden weeks have gone by without an entry in the food journal and nary a sneaker has been laced up. With of course the irony being that when things get stressful there’s not much better you can do for yourself than exercise. File that under D is for Duh, you Doofus-assed Dummy. 

I spent the entire Summer walking the neighborhood, sweating my ass off and salivating for the days of cooler weather. I enjoyed the walks enough then to know that they’d become downright blissful in the crispy, golden October afternoons. Then October finally arrived, all hell broke loose and the number of walks I managed was…ONE. Yes, things were crazy. Yes, there were many days I honestly couldn’t fit one in. But truthfully would it have been that hard to take just even a half hour for myself and just do it? Come on. Because – full disclosure – you know I watched more than one TV show during the month.

I’m not looking over the fact that my weight has stayed the same and not crept back up – I’m very, very thankful for that, because it damn sure hasn’t been due to any effort on my part. But since today marks the beginning of a new month, I feel like it’s a good time to recommit and make a promise to myself : no matter what else is happening around me, it can all wait for a little while. I know full well it’ll be there when I get back from my soul-refreshing, brain-cleansing, life-affirming WALK.

You Gotta Have Goals

So, what are your workout goals?

1. Not being embarrassed to work out in my actual workout clothes.
2. Not being out of breath by the time I get in place/set up/ready to work out.
3. To actually work out?
4. Not requiring 12 days of rest in between workouts.
5. Not requiring a doctor’s visit, ice, heat, bandage, splint, ultrasound, or physical therapy after a workout.
6. To whine a collective total of not more than 1 hour per workout.
7. To actually work out more than once?
8. To stop swearing at the television screen.
9. To really consider the value of a swear jar before I truly commit to #8.
10. To make this list sound at least slightly more funny than true.

I know:  It’s scary how high I’m aiming here.  I know they all warn against being unrealistic, but I wasn’t sure how to go lower and still have them count as goals!

 

Dairy Dues

So, recently I’ve been cutting back on dairy. I noticed a correlation between heightened IBS issues and a lot of dairy in my diet, so I decided to eliminate all dairy except yogurt for a week or two and see what happened. It improved my digestive health so much that I decided to just keep the dairy low for the foreseeable future.

This just adds to the balancing act that is required of me between my IBS, my hypoglycemia, and my low-meat diet due to my cholesterol issues and arrhythmia. I don’t presume to call myself a vegan, but my diet is starting to resemble a vegan diet about half the time. It means that I have to be yet more creative, and that “stir-fry” has to replace “casserole” as the simplest weeknight solution.

I’m not complaining; although it’s a serious pain in the rear, in the long run I like being forced to be more creative in the kitchen. Cutting dairy means cutting a class of food with more calories than nutrition, which is good. But it does drag up some questions for me about what exactly is wrong with my insides. I haven’t eaten cheesecake in many years, because I’ve known for that length of time that it’s a trigger food and will lead me to far more misery in the ladies’ room than the temporary happiness in my mouth is worth. I thought it was the richness of the food and not the dairy that was the problem, because there are plenty of high-dairy foods that do nothing to me. I ate a Greek dish with a 1 1/2 inch layer of fluffy bechamel sauce on top the other night with no ill effects, and I eat cheese and crackers with no problem. But the other night I made a casserole with Greek yogurt and Neufchatel cheese (like cream cheese with less fat), and the next day, oh, the suffering.

I don’t think I’m lactose intolerant. If I am, it’s a highly selective intolerance. But I might pick up some of those lactose pills, buy some cheesecake for the first time in a million years, and see what happens.

Tool for Accountability

For the next twelve weeks (starting this coming Sunday) I’m using Fitbook to hold myself accountable to my fitness and nutrition goals. Writing it down, and having visual indicators for my success, have worked for me in the past. I’m moving away from tracking on the computer (though I remain a fan of SparkPeople) since it has gotten to be too much of a hassle to be so very dead-on specific with every little thing.

So instead of tracking at a 100-foot level, I’m going to use Fitbook to track at a 1,000 foot level. Food items, but not precise calorie counts. Workouts, but not exact calories burned. Overall goals broken down into weekly progress checks. It’s big enough to have room for all the tracking items that are important to me, but small enough to be portable and fit into my purse. At first impression, it seems to be a handy little book.

We shall see if it effects my motivation and discipline in any way. If it does, it’s worth its weight in gold. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll keep on keepin’ on. Hopefully I’ll kick myself in the ass hard enough to see some sort of improvement by Christmas.