224.6

I know my goal was to maintain over the holiday weekend, but...I really expected worse than this.

Whoa.

I just realized that if you go from my highest blogged weight, 240.4 (August 24, 2009), I've lost eighteen pounds exactly. Eighteen pounds in just about three months. And I've really only been working out hard for about six weeks.

This makes me so excited to see more results as the weeks go by. I know I'm not going to backslide again -- I'm determined, at the bare minimum, to maintain my current loss. I'm NOT going to gain again over the holidays. I'm just not. I can't go backwards anymore. I can't "start over" again and again and again anymore.

I feel so determined today. I feel resolved. I feel like I could kick some serious ass. Who put Chuck Norris in my coffee?!

222.4

A small loss, but a loss nonetheless.

The Proof is in the...Pants?

At work the other day, I kept feeling something funny on my backside. I couldn't figure out what it was. It was a sort of tickle-y, swishy feeling -- really hard to describe. Then it dawned on me that what I was feeling was my back pockets rubbing against my (baggy) underpants. Do you know how long it's been since my pants were loose enough for that to happen? Oh, just about FOREVER. Usually, the pockets are squeezed so tight against my butt that I can't put anything in them. Now, I have swishy-pants.

As if that weren't enough good news, check THIS out. I was rummaging through my dresser yesterday, trying to find something to wear. At the bottom of my pants drawer were two pairs of size 16 jeans I'd ordered a few months ago. They didn't fit when I got them, but I put them aside and thought maybe I'd get into them by my birthday (January).

Since I had a little extra time, I decided to try them on. And guess what?

THEY FIT.

Now, I still have some serious muffin-top action going on, just from all the skin and pudge on my upper abdomen. But these jeans, they FIT. Like, I don't have to lay down on the floor to zip them. This means I'm down TWO SIZES since I started working out in earnest. TWO SIZES.

These two little things make me feel so motivated! I did a really long workout this morning (thank you, Hubs, for giving me the time to sleep in AND work out interrupted) and it felt awesome. I did 3.2 miles on the treadmill (mostly walking, but fast walking!) and then did weights (back & shoulders, legs) and abs (ohhhhhhhhhhhhh not fun). I wish I could do that kind of workout every day.

In other news...my left knee is still bothering me. It feels sort of like there's little elves jamming a big screwdriver under my patella and trying to wedge it out of place. This knee's been wobbly since my first and only skiing experience, wherein I twisted it about 90 degrees in the wrong direction. But until this past week of running, it hasn't bothered me. I think the impact of my 200+ pounds slamming down on it might be a little much for it to handle right now. I'm NOT worrying about it, though -- I can still walk, I can still lift -- and I'm NOT using it as an excuse to give up or back out of my 5K.

So HOORAY for progress and swishy-pants! Hooray for staying motivated! Hooray hooray HOORAY!

Introspection

Part of my weight loss journey has been about figuring out the "whys" of myself, like why I chose to stay overweight. I'm not usually one for navel-gazing, but lately I've been forcing myself to take the time to think and write about how I really feel about my life.

One of the things I've been focusing on is work. I can't really call it a career, because honestly, pulling espresso and pushing overpriced sugary coffee drinks isn't a career I want. I've also got massage therapy under my belt; I just need to take my national exam to be considered a certified therapist. I have to say that the more I think about things, though, the less I'm interested in any sort of "real" job. At first I thought this was just laziness -- not wanting to have to get up, get dressed, and go out every day. Then I thought I might be too attached to the Kid to put him in someone else's care while I work. But as I wrote those thoughts down in my journal, it started to hit me. It's not laziness, it's not fear, it's not lack of ambition. Having a regular job is just not what I want to do. Period. Full stop.

So what DO I want to do? What makes me happy? What makes me feel fulfilled? Those are the tougher questions to answer, but as the days go by, I'm feeling more and more like what I'm best at and what makes me happy is to be here, in my home, taking care of my family. The whole time I'm at work, I'm thinking about being at home. And while I'm at home, I'm so happy to be there -- even on the days when the Kid is a pain, or the dogs barf somewhere, or I have to clean toilets or fold everyone's underpants.

When I first started working less and staying home more (last October), I felt really overwhelmed and stressed. I still feel that way from time to time. What I've figured out, though, is that it's not the home stuff or family stuff or marriage stuff that's stressing me out. It's the fact that I have to put those things aside to go to a job I don't like. It's having to put my family life aside every evening so I can go to bed early enough to get up for work the next day.

All I want to do is take care of my family, my home, and myself. I love cooking, gardening, playing with my son, having dinner with my husband. I love the tiny daily details of keeping house. I love planning my week, and my errands, and having friends over for dinner. Can this be my job, please? Sadly, the answer to that question is NO. For now, I have to keep working, just for financial reasons. But knowing what I really and truly want to do, being honest with myself about that, is going to make it easier to bear.

What does all this have to do with my weight, you might be wondering. Well, the fact is, when I'm happy, I don't overeat. I don't punish myself with food. Happy Me likes to get up and run, eat good food, rest. Happy Me takes care of herself. So figuring out why I haven't been happy is really important.

223

Another two pounds gone! Woo wooooooo!

Good Week, Bad Week

After my big loss last week, I've taken it a little too easy this week. I haven't been pushing myself as hard on my runs. I've kept my food in check, though, and I've been really trying to pay attention instead of just cruising along in auto-pilot mode. I've done a lot of writing (just haven't published all of it), and spent a lot of time thinking about what's up with me lately.

Some things I've figured out:

Most of the "treat" food I think I want is really, really, really not worth it.

I had lunch with Smith and his wife on Thursday. We got takeout pizza from the Italian place by my house. This is pizza that I LOVE, like eat it once a week because ohhhh the greasy goodness LOVE. I was really hungry when the pizza arrived, and it smelled so good. But halfway through the second piece, I just realized that it didn't really taste that good. It was greasy, salty, everything I thought I wanted, but...bleh. It wasn't disgusting, don't get me wrong, and Fattie was certainly delighted. It just didn't taste as good as I remembered. And afterwards, I had a bellyache from the grease. Urp.

Then last night, I had to go to my store's Holiday meeting (not a party, we just sit around and talk retail). All of the holiday pastries we are selling this year were set up on the tables, cut into convenient bite-sized pieces. In years past, I have eaten at least a half to three quarters of a tray of these things. This year, I had a small piece of each just so I could taste if they were any different from last year, and then I was done. And again, it really didn't taste that good. I didn't feel tempted, I didn't feel like it was a big deal to say "No, I tried that one, I'm good."

I need to focus on my victories, no matter how small, instead of beating myself up.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm the queen of self-depracating humor. I learned a long time ago that if I beat everyone to the punch, and come up with the meanest or funniest joke, then nobody else will take a stab at teasing me. The problem is, nobody wants to tease me anymore (well, except maybe Smith and Hubs when they get together), so I don't need the defense mechanism. What I need to do is remind myself that for the most part, I am a pretty kickass person, and I deserve to feel good about myself. For example, I've lost a total of fourteen pounds. FOURTEEN POUNDS IS A BIG DEAL, even when I know I have many, many more pounds to lose. Another example? What used to be my ZOMG DEATH ON TEH TREADMILL running pace is now my "warmup" pace. Oh yeah, and how about the fact that I've shrunk out of my jeans AND two sizes of underwear?

Routine is very, very good for me.

To some it may seem boring, or even robotic. But for me, doing the same thing, in the same order, every day is extremely comforting and sustaining. Get up at the same time, eat my same breakfast, same bedtime, same same same same same. Routine is what makes it easier to get up at 3 AM and run, to turn down junk food, to keep the house under control.

My uterus is not the boss of me.

I used to blame everything on Aunt Flo. Gained weight? Her fault. Feeling tired? Her fault. Being an insanely cranky bitch and biting the heads off everyone around you? So totally her fault. But guess what? Her = me. And I'm not going to lay around on the couch for a week eating crap and allowing myself to get away with it because my uterus is in purge mode. It's become clear through this and a couple of other minor physical challenges that my brain can convince my body to do (or not do) whatever it wants. I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing, and my body can cooperate or get left behind.

So I'd say it's been a good week overall, and I'm going to finish strong with my run and workout tomorrow. RAH!

D-Day

I started noticing lately that my bras were getting very uncomfortable -- pinchy, straps falling down, and some double-boobing. (You know, when a bra doesn't fit right, the cup pinches across your boob and sort of cleaves it into two mini-boobs?) I attributed this to a few factors:

1. I buy cheap bras. I usually don't spend more than ten bucks on one.

2. I've lost a few pounds.

3. The bras I have are old, and (I know, horror of horrors) I PUT THEM IN THE WASHING MACHINE.

I mentioned this to my mom when we went shopping together on Saturday, so as we were walking through Dillard's, she suggested that I get a fitting done. Man, did I ever get a shock in that dressing room. No, the very nice salesgirl (and I do mean girl, I think she was about 17) did not grab my tatas, or shriek in horror when she saw what havoc babies wreak on formerly NICE tatas. No, my friends. The shock? My size. These things here? *points to chest* These "yard dogs"? THEY'VE GOTTEN BIGGER.

I sent a frantic text to my husband telling him my new size. His reply (and I'm not even making this up): "Yay! Boobies!" I laughed right as the salesgirl came back in the dressing room. She looked at me like I was nuts. I said, "I'm sorry. My inner 13 year old is just really excited about having officially big boobs."

So now here I sit, tatas comfortably cradled in the largest brassiere I've ever worn. It's extremely comfortable, but I'm a little scared that it might be mistaken for some sort of padding used to protect canteloupes during shipping.

225

Holy shiitake, that's 6.2 pounds this week! I haven't had a loss like that since my WW days.

Fighting the Urge to Snuggle

The weather's turned cold, and this is my body's cue to curl up and nap, apparently. Somebody done flipped the "HIBERNATE" switch. It's a tough urge to fight -- I've got a super comfy couch, a toddler who likes to cuddle, and streaming movies on Netflix.

I've been doing pretty well at keeping the naps under control, though. I've taken a couple of power-snoozes (less than an hour) on days that I work AND run, but that's it. I made up a few rules for myself to help:

1. Ask yourself, "Are you REALLY tired, or are you just bored?" I find that a lot of times I'll just go to sleep if I don't have anything interesting to do. I've been combatting this by getting back into photography, and I'm about to jump into scrapbooking again (that's my wintertime hobby).

2. No run? No nap. If I don't work out, I don't really have any excuse to be tired. If I do run, I let myself have a 45 minute nap, max.

3. No work? No nap. If I don't work in the morning (my usual 4:45 - 8:45AM shift), again, I don't have any excuse to be tired. And I really only need a post-work nap on days that are super busy, like today (lots of customers, supply order to put away, etc.).

4. Turn on the lights, or better yet, go outside. When I want to nap, I'll get up and turn the lights on (I usually keep them off during the day) or zip outside for a few minutes. It really helps.

Another thing I've been doing for a while now is to regulate my bedtime. This is one of those things that your mom or dad's been telling you your whole life -- go to bed at a reasonable hour. Again, so simple, but it really, really works. I've learned that I really need a solid eight hours in order to feel really good the next day. I just make my bedtime non-negotiable, like an appointment or any other time commitment.

I know I'm not the only one who must be feeling the urge to snuggle. How do YOU handle it?

The Fear

I tried changing up my run this morning (yes, I'm already done at 3:50AM). Instead of running a whole 1.25/1.5 miles, I started with five minutes of walking. Then I ran half a mile, then walked a quarter mile, then ran another half mile. I was going to walk another quarter and finish with a half, but I had to stop. Why? Because I started hyperventilating. Argh!

This hasn't happened since my panic attack on the track (hey, that rhymes!). This time, I totally felt it coming, but I couldn't stop it. I started to feel a little weirdness in my ribs on the right side, and before I knew it, I couldn't breathe (or at least that's what it felt like). It's hard to explain the feeling...it's almost like that feeling you get right before you cough, where you can't quite get the air all the way down into the bottom of your lung.

So the next question is, why did this happen? What was I thinking about when it happened? Oh yeah...the 5k. And how I'm nervous about running in public, running outside, running so slowly that the guy in the golf cart will have to haul me to the finish. Stupid, irrational, ridiculous, overblown fears. Excuses waiting to happen.

Today I'm going to be thinking about what I'm really afraid of, and when I run tomorrow, I'm NOT going to hyperventilate again. DO YOU HEAR ME, LUNGS? DO YOU HEAR ME, BRAIN? Y'all are going to cut the shit, and we're going to do this.

Handy Dandy Tip

Sleep in your workout clothes.

I thought this was the dumbest thing EVER the first time I heard it, but it actually helps. I don't sleep in my running pants, but I keep them right next to the bed. So, as soon as I wake up, it's like they're saying, "Good morning! Get your ass on the treadmill!"

It's A Choice

I've been posting cellphone shots of my treadmill display to my Facebook page on the mornings that I run. Partially because I want to keep track of my times, and partially as sort of an exercise in accountability - more than a day without a picture is my signal to send the workout police. A couple of surprising side-effects have sprung up, the first being an amazing show of support from my friends, both near and far. It makes me wish I'd gone "public" with my fitness endeavors in the past, simply because their enthusiasm and encouragement help keep me going.

The second? Well, I'm getting a lot of "Oh my GAWD, how do you get up so EARLY?" (My runs are usually done around 3AM, since I have to be at work most mornings by 4:45AM.) Someone even commented on it at a party I went to this past weekend. "I don't know how you do it."

The answer is surprisingly simple, and it's taken me a really long time to get to this lightbulb moment:

It's a choice.

I can choose to get up and run at the only time of day when I won't be rushed, or interrupted, or feel guilty for not doing something else. Or, I can lay in bed another hour, then spend the rest of the day alternately finding excuses NOT to run and beating myself up for not running. Is it an easy choice? Not really. I won't even lie and say I leap out of bed filled with an overwhelming desire to get on the treadmill and sweat and gasp for air and (occasionally) cry my eyes out. For lack of a better phrase, it fucking SUCKS.

But you know what sucks worse? Weighing over 200 pounds and not being able to keep up with my kid. Never being able to find clothes that fit. Being self-conscious, oh, EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. Seeing myself in the mirror and thinking, "Dang, did that recessive Michelin Man gene decide to pop up or what?"

So I choose. I choose to drag myself out of bed, put workout clothes on, get on the treadmill, and (beware, Smithism) run it out. Every step, every tenth of a mile is a choice. Keep going? Push harder? Or give up and get off?

Now, I don't always make the right choice, or the best choice. Feel free to go back an entry or two and read about my Halloween weekend debacle. And there have certainly been mornings when I should have, could have run longer or harder or faster, but I didn't. But after every bad choice is an opportunity to make a better one. Ate cake for breakfast? Well, you can give up and eat crap for the rest of the day, or you can choose to eat something better at the next meal.

Again, this is such a simple concept, and I can't for the life of me think of why it's taken thirty-one years for me to get it. But I do. I get it now. For the majority of my adult life, I've chosen to not take care of myself, to let myself get out of shape, and I've chosen to make excuses and hide from the truth. That's no one's fault, there's no one to blame. It was my choice.

231.2

Damn you, Halloween!

Also -- a weekend of junking does not make for a good Monday morning run. I still did it, though.

Halloween, I Kind of Hate Your Face

My eating spiraled out of control this weekend, and I'm still trying to get a handle on it. Even after I got rid of all the candy in the house after my friend's baby shower last weekend, even after running all week, I still let myself eat (and drink) way too much.

On Friday morning, I let myself have Chik Fil A Chicken Minis for breakfast. Hubs had taken the day off for a school thing, and when he got back, we went to Ruby Tuesday's for lunch. I had a salad, but that salad had bacon, avocado, and cheese on it (not tons, but probably more than I should've had).

Then that night, my friend Peggy threw an awesome party, and although I started out strong -- eating celery from the veggie tray, drinking a light beer -- I ended up drinking too much and chowing down on everything from chips and dip to pumpkin-faced Krispy Kreme donuts.

Saturday, I felt like complete and total poop. Not hungover, but dehydrated and well, sugary. It's weird, sugar now has a very strange and unpleasant effect on me. It makes me so tired, and for lack of a better word, I just feel STICKY inside.

We went to a birthday party; my friend's son turned one and they threw a pirate-themed birthday party for him. I didn't eat much of anything -- I think I had a bite of cake and maybe one or two chips. Nothing seemed appealing. I can't really remember what we ate the rest of the day. After running a couple of errands, we took the Kid trick-or-treating and then had dinner with my mom. Mexican food! I had chicken fajitas, which aren't too bad I guess. But then when we got home, I ate some of Kid's candy, and then Hubs and I ate pita chips and spinach dip while we watched a scary movie. I was so exhausted, and still dehydrated, and still feeling like poop.

So here we are on Sunday. I tried to get back on track this morning: oatmeal with fruit, some coffee. But then I ate leftover dip while Kid napped, and then I ate candy. I still haven't had enough water. And I hopped on the scale -- up three pounds from Monday. FUCK. I haven't run today, I didn't run yesterday. I FEEL LIKE CRAP.

Can I get a do-over? Can I go back to Friday night and not pig out? No.

What can I do?

I can start over again, again, again. I can (will!) throw out the damned Halloween candy and leftover dip. I can keep drinking water for the rest of the day, have a decent dinner, and start fresh tomorrow. I can get a good night's sleep and hopefully keep myself from getting the cold I feel coming on. I can learn a lesson from this past weekend and stop making this mistake over and over again.