Day Forty-Five

Still sick.  Still sound like I've been smoking cartons of cigarettes.  I have hopes for tomorrow being a return to normal.  I did think about going running, but my voice was so scratchy and weird, I knew I'd be kicking myself big time for running in the cool autumn air and got sicker tomorrow.  See you soon...honest!

Day Forty-Three

I have the funk.  I sound like a circus seal (HOOP HOOP).  I didn't work out, because I feel like hammered poop.  Part of me is bothered, but then I just have to tell myself, "Dude, you're sick.  Get over it."  I'm going to bed.  See you tomorrow!

Day Forty-One, Numbers for Week Six

I want to start by saying that I am really pleased with six weeks' worth of work.  I have been pushing myself and I am glad I have stuck with this so far, even with the speedbumps, gullywashers, and broken fanbelts that have popped up along the way.  I also need to remember that this is a lifestyle change, not a crash diet.  This is not about a scale, or a number, but the whole picture.  I am changing my activity level, my health, my mental state, my coordination, as well as my fat content (not to sound like a bag of Doritos or anything, but you know what I mean). 

I also want to take time to give the largest shout out I can to the people who have tirelessly stuck by me and this blog, who have patted me on the back, and shared my happy moments and who have helped me keep my perspective and get back up on the horse again when I have been frustrated.  You all help me so very much, I cannot tell you, except to say thank you again.

So, let's do 'dis.

Weight:       178 (down a whole pound.  uh, whoop.)  Down 12 pounds total
Bust:           42.75" (up an inch)  Down .25" total.  h-o-r-m-o-n-e-s.
Upper Arm: 12.75" (down .50") Down .75" total.
Waist:         38.50" (down .75") Down 4.5" total.  YAY!
Abdomen:   42.25" (down .25") Down 2.25" total.
Butt:            42.25" (down .75") Down 3.25" total.  YAY!
Thigh:          24.50" (no change) Down 3.50" total.
Calf:            15.25" (down .25") Down .25" total. 
BMI:           29.6 (down .2) Down 2 points total. 

I think that this is one of those times when the scale doesn't fully show the work that has been done since the last weigh in.  This is why I am glad I took measurements along the way.  Without the tape measure, I'd have no idea that, contrary to what I was convinced of, I actually got smaller in my waist and my butt.  Hey, even my calves are starting to shrink down.  I also really pushed hard with weights the past two weeks, and I have been building up muscles, which skew the number on the scale as well.  If I were going to Weight Watchers (and I have done that several times in the past), that number on the scale would be the only thing I would be able to pin my progress on.  And, knowing me, I would be feeling mighty discouraged right about now.  But now I can see that I am getting smaller.  It's not as flashy as the first couple of weigh ins and measurements were, but it is still going on. 

I wish the scale had a bigger number to show me, but I don't really feel that disappointed.  I worked really hard with weights and built up some good muscle.  I can tell because I am stronger, I can carry heavier things (like my son), and I can see it on myself, my leg, my arms, their shape is changing from doughy to...less doughy.  I am going to keep up the hard work!  I am very curious to see what I will look like in another six weeks, but first things first...on to Week Seven!  See you Monday!

Day Forty

Well, I think it's safe to say I learned some stuff this week.  I learned a couple things today already.

For one, when I go seven hours without eating (due to circumstances beyond my control), I am pretty much going to throw nutrition out the window when all I have left to eat in the house is frozen chicken breasts.  Domino's will be my official BFL food provider at that point, and it will look like portion control to a giant. 

Also, when I feel sick and have a cold....well, see number one again.

And when I'm cranky and hormonal, well, yeah, you  know.  Number one.  Again.

So there you go.  I missed my workout today because I also learned another thing...when I combine two workouts into one really long workout, with running like a maniac and lifting weights like I'm training for the UFC, then I become so sore and bone-weary exhausted that the idea of working out with weights again becomes laughable.

And the last thing, whenever I get to talking or worse yet, bragging about progress I have made, or how long I have stuck with something, anything at all, it's like a guarantee I will screw it up at the earliest possible opportunity.  So....

TA DA!

See you tomorrow. :)

Day Thirty-Nine, and what it was like.

Well, I woke up and decided that, being it was a new day and all, to let the past be the past and to not have a foodie/binge-y hangover and feel the funk any more than I had to.  So I went to the Y this morning and dropped Andrew off in Child Watch so I could work out.  And I did it me-style.  Let me 'splain....

I went to run, since it is an Aerobics Solution day.  I got all set on the treadmill, popped Pearl in my ears, and started chugging away.  I had propped my BFL journal up on the little crap ledge thingy that all treadmills have, and tried to use it like I normally do, to keep track of what speed I need to go at what time.  It proved to be too much book on too small of a display screen, so I shut the book and only opened it when I needed to.  Then I dropped it and caught it in mid-air, only to have knocked off the emergency magnet thingy that is supposed to save me from being launched across the room in case I fall.  I had to smile to myself...ha ha, how cute, I messed up and have to re-enter my speed, my course, my weight, my horoscope, my second grade teacher's favorite color, and on and on.  So I did it and started running again.  Trying to remember how much I had run before so I could see if I could make it past the mile-and-a-half mark I've been logging in previous runs.  Then I knocked the little frackin' magnet off AGAIN!  This time the funk roared out of me and I full-fledged gave my treadmill the very obvious finger.  Mature, right?  What does that rate me, middle school or high school level maturity?  Mind you, I'm at the YMCA, the Young Men's Christian Association.  And that little gesture wasn't like saying "peace be unto you."  It's more like saying, "help, I need meds."

I finished my run...have no clue how far I went, and decided to break the rules.  I went into the weight area.  This area scares me.  There are machines here that look like they could double for the iron maiden during the Spanish Inquisition (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!).  There are big ole dumb bells, and there are people working out with barbells and stuff.  People who look like they know what they're doing, and will probably laugh me out of there once I start heaving weights around.  But the funk will not be denied.  I march in there, blaring ABBA in my Pearl (dork alert), and start lifting weights for the missed Upper Body Workout I didn't do yesterday.  And I do the whole thing. 

I have some funny observations from my time in the weight area.  First, all weights smell funny.  I thought it was just mine at home (they smell like kerosone, even after I washed them).  Must be some kind of rule.  Secondly, I lift heavier weights than ever before when I'm in public.  Because, you know, everyone is looking at me.  No one could possibly be there to work out and focus only on themselves.  Shuh.  I mean, I even caught myself in the 412 mirrors in the weight area, doing bench dips and trying to set my jawline like I was a bad-ass.  I am such a poser!  I just have to laugh at myself.  Apparently my maturity level is still below average, but I kinda already knew that.

Today I got to thinking about the moment in my life regarding food that spurred me into taking action, and into doing Body-for-LIFE.  I was cranky, upset, very resentful in general, and feeling like a member of the Donner party, except with cabin fever thrown in.  I had driven to the nearby gas station to get "bad food."  I was wearing pajamas basically, really baggy pants and a horrible looking T-shirt.  My hair was all over the place, and I was very big and obviously very unhappy.  Plus, I had my brain on auto-loop, constantly berating myself over my appearance and what I was eating, especially when I was eating the "bad food."  "What are you doing, fatty?" my brain would hiss at me.  "Don't you know everyone can see how fat you are and is thinking that?"  Literally, that is how mean my mind is to me when I get to feeling low. 

So I grabbed king size candy bars, chips, sodas, fruit candy, and more stuff.  Then is where it felt more painful than it ever has before.  That slow shuffle to the counter, where I'm trying to walk as if I have confidence in myself and don't care about the 1400 calories worth of crap I have in my arms.  I think about pretending I am getting all of this for a group of people, not just for myself.  Maybe I could tell him I'm getting these snacks for friends at home who are going to watch a movie with me?  I remember distinctly thinking that.  I set the food down, and this painful lump in my throat was just killing me.  I knew this wasn't working, that this was not good for me, but I felt like I just had to have this stuff.  That it was all the enjoyment I had left at that point.  And a still, quiet voice (my own voice, too) said to me,

 "You know that you don't have to do this if you don't want to." 

I went through the motions after that.  I paid the cashier, lugged home the crap, and proceeded to eat it, but my little routine was spoiled.  I could still hear that little voice and I knew it was speaking the truth.  I didn't have to live like that, not if I didn't want to.  And I didn't want to any more.  I think a few days later or so the idea for BFL came to me, and I started this blog.  I am so very grateful that voice spoke to me when it did, when I felt so embarrassed and hideous about myself.  I know that voice was more than just myself, but a glimpse into what I could be, if I just would put down the self-sabotaging behavior.  I've heard that voice before, and it has always helped me.  And I know that voice comes from the God of my understanding, and I am so glad for my relationship with Him.  I know that God, and God-talk doesn't float a lot of people's boats, and if that guy doesn't figure into your life, that's cool, it's totally your business.  I'm only relating what happened to me that caused me to try to change what I did so I can have a better life. 

I slip up with that stuff from time to time (hey, see last night's post!), but I always try and usually succeed at getting back on the wagon again.  I do that because I do not ever want to do that shuffle to the counter at the gas station.  Ever again.  Good night, and see you tomorrow.

Day Thirty-Eight. Meh.

Bless me, dude, 'cause I am cranky.  It has been about 20 minutes since I last professed crankiness.  Here are my "things".

Thing 1:  I have been overtired all day.

Thing 2:  I ate three (!) Clif bars today and my stomach is not.happy.with.me.

Thing 3:  My hors are moning, to quote from the Sweet Potato Queens by Jill Connor Browne.  In English, my hormones are running rampant like lemmings off a cliff.

Thing 4:  I am so sensitive that I am positive that the Dalai Lama just gave me the finger.  That son of a gun.

Thing 5:  I ate Wendy's tonight.  For spite.  Kind of like eating rat poison and waiting for other people to die.  Aaaaawwweeesooommme and SO proud of the choice I made.

I need absolution.  Or maybe some chocolate.  Or a tazer.  I can't decide which.  So I better go to bed, because this evening has blown royally.  And the only thing that's genuinely the matter is the space between my ears.  Oh well, this too shall pass.  Meh.

Day Thirty-Seven

It's late, and I am feeling a little bothered.

First off, thank you very much for your supportive comments on my post yesterday.  It's always a good feeling when I come to a strong opinion on something, and other people end up saying that it is English I'm speaking in, it does make sense, and they sympathize.  Triple score!

Today I am feeling irritated because of the dumbest thing in the world.  That doggone number on the scale looks like it is creeping up, even though I have been behaving myself.  I know that number doesn't define me, and that I am working out with weights, and I'm not seventeen years old so it might take a while, and on and on, but I admit, I still totally get hung up on that number.  I had to work so hard to lose the eleven pounds (w00t) that I have lost, I sure as hell don't want to see any of those suckers creeping back onto my body.  I had to think to myself, "what am I not doing right?"  I am eating the right way, my meals are not spaced too far apart, I worked out yesterday and today.  Last week I missed two out of three of my Aerobics workouts (oops), so maybe that's what's going on?  It is so stupid to get hung up on, but I want the FAT OFFFFFF! 

On the plus side, when I was putting lotion on my legs (go self-care!), I noticed that my calf muscle looks very lovely.  It has muscle showing through, and I can see it flex and stuff.  I definitely felt it flexing this morning when I had the charley horse from hell, too!  I was whimpering and trying to hobble off of the bed so I could stand on my leg and work the charley horse out.   And why on earth is it called a charley horse?!  I guess I better head to wikipedia to answer that one....

Also, I forgot to tell you something else I did this weekend.  I signed up for the Pumpkin Run 4k Race!  It is October 24th, and I get a pair of socks for running in it.  I'm so neurotic that I'm already getting a little nervous about it.  Silly questions floated through my head today regarding the race...can I run with my little Pearly iPod in my ears?  Is that against the rules?  What if I have to walk a fair bit?  What if I fall?  Ahhhh, glad to see my brain is still reliable in respect to coming up with ways to trip me up.

So now I'm off to bed.  It's late, and I don't want to oversleep two days in a row for work.  Thank God Andrew wandered in to wake me up this morning at 7:20--we were supposed to be at work at 8:00!  We made it in, but were late by nearly 10 minutes.  So I better get to sleep so I don't play whack-a-mole with the snooze button in the morning.  See you tomorrow!

PS:  I just had to sneak off and look up Charley Horses.  This is a hoot.  It can be known as a "dead leg" or a "granddaddy".  In Australia it can be called a corked leg or a "corky."  It can be in the thigh (traditional location), from getting a bruise on the thigh muscles (like when playing soccer and you catch a knee up there--sort of makes the same mark as a kick from a horse), or a simple muscle cramp in the leg or foot.  I am such a dork!

Day Thirty-Six, and I wanna tell you something...

Hey everyone.  Saturday sort of slipped by me and I didn't do my usual blogging routine.  But today, oh man, have I got something to say.

Now, to be fair, I will try to avoid generalizations, although it's very easy.  I remember "The Big Chill" when Jeff Goldblum's character (the reporter) was talking about generalizations.  Something to the tune of it being not such a big deal when people proclaim they're going without sex or whatever, but the real trick is to try to go a week without making a generalization.  I'm not aiming for a week, but I am going to aim for an entire post, ok?

It was a bumpy weekend.  In BFL, I got plenty of warning to expect life to come at me.  My family, my job, my hair, my car weren't going to go on pause and wait patiently while I did 84 days of self-transformation.  I was going to have to be ready for obstacles, and to turn it into something positive, or at least to not let it derail me.  So this Saturday was one of those times.  Without going into too much detail, it was made somewhat plain to me that my whole little "routine", getting out for a few short hours on Saturday night, was inconvenient because...well, because it just was, I guess.  It would have been preferred if I could have put Andrew to bed by myself (again) and stayed home (again) in case someone needed something (again).  And this time, I had a breakthrough. 

In the past, I might have just stuffed my feelings and stayed home, burning with resentment and anger, and even have tamped the feelings down with a supply of Dove Bars and the boob tube.  This time, though, I turned and asked what in particular could I do at that moment that would make things better.  I asked how I could be "of service", as they put it in my favorite 12-step program.  When no answer was forthcoming, I just said, as neutrally as possible:

"This doesn't sound like my problem.  This doesn't sound like my stuff.  And it is not a crime for me to leave the house."

BAM.

No, nothing went flying, no one got smacked, but it fell like a bowling ball off of a skyscraper for me.  I finally said what I'd been thinking in calmer moments, when this situation would come up, time and again.  I didn't elaborate, I just continued on my way out.  I was very nice about the whole thing.  Dinner was made and served up for the two men in my life.  The pots and pans were already washed and drying.  Laundry was going, and everything was as ready for bedtime as I could make it.  I admit I was angry and took advantage of some chairs being moved around where I went in order to get out some frustration (PS:  I can lift two folding chairs in each hand now--ka-ching!), and I have been muttering to myself a little bit, but in all, this was a real moment for me. 

I had read in the BFL for Women book about taking the time for yourself, for your self care, and it really got driven home for me this weekend.  Pamela Peeke, the author, has a charming little bit about "someone" taking the hard-working woman aside and saying, "oh honey, you've worked so hard, let me go to the store for you and buy that chicken breast.  I'll cook it up for you, too.  Why don't you go to a matinee or something?"  If I wait for that to happen--well, it just won't happen.  So I have to take the time, steal it, hold it up at gunpoint, whatever, to get what I need.  I'm not looking for an unreasonable amount of time for myself.  Two evenings a week, one where I get to be gone until late, if I want to, and time, when needed (like once a week), to have Andrew be watched so I can work out for 45 minutes, tops.  I'm not asking for human sacrifice, I'm not asking for anyone to miss out on their needs so that mine can be met, and I'm starting to not be so shy about asking, either.  It is only fair.  And yeah, I know life's not fair, but screw that, parenting should be.  Or at least somewhat close. 

So, that's my big breakthrough.  I'm sure people have opinions on that sort of thing, and I'm interested in hearing yours...though, to be honest, if it is along the lines that I should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen and proud of it...maybe you should tell it to someone else. 

In other news, I am proud to say that I worked out this evening, even though I was so close to calling it off and going to bed early.  I knew that I would be more bothered by missing the workout than by actually doing it, so I just put in my little iPod (I love you, Pearl) and gritted my teeth and, soon enough, the endorphins were going and I was feeling pretty glad about myself.  I am at the start of Week Six, and I have to say, how the hell did six weeks go by already?  Well, five weeks, but still!  I am almost to the halfway mark, and I am really enjoying the strength I have, the discipline I am building, and the mental clarity and sense of self that is getting dusted off after three years of being pregnant/being a new mom/being a working mom/being a working mom of a toddler.  It's nice to be Erin again, rather than just Andrew's Mommy, although that is a pretty sweet gig, too.

It is very late, and I will have to cut this short, but I just want to say this to you.  If there is something you really want to do, and you feel like it would just inconvenience others or rock the boat or whatever...well, they're grown-ups too, just like you, and if you've been sucking it up for this long, then they can start sucking it up while you go grab what you need.  Go get 'em!  I'll see you tomorrow!

Day Thirty-Three

I just, five minutes ago, got in my Upper Body Workout.  It's a damn good thing I'm a born night owl, otherwise this exercising stuff would be even harder to fit in. 

Today I realized how precious my time is.  I was so wacky at work from lack of sleep (Andrew caught a minor cold and spent the night kvetching at/for me) that I practically insisted on knitting my way through my shift.  Yeah, it's not so bad to be caught knitting on the job.  It's not like I was lurching around, twirling batons that were lit on fire.  That's next week.

I can actually knit without looking at my hands (sort of), and I was still running around, playing with the kids and being an involved employee, but I just had a ball of yarn in my armpit and an ever-lengthening scarf on my needles.  I must be rubbing off on people, because no one even batted an eye at me.  I just felt like I needed to do it, for my sanity.  I don't even know if I can make it make sense to you, but I just feel like I run from one small fire/responsibility to another, and then poof, it's 1:30am again and I'm trying to resign myself to ending another day, getting a shorter amount of sleep than I wanted, so I can do it all over again the next day.  I work, I parent, I knit for a sideline job, I knit for fun, I have to read something every day (no, really I do), and then there's cooking, cleaning, and exercising.  The day is just not long enough...seriously, could we expand the day to about 30 hours--just the sleeping part?  That would be grrrreeaaat.

Today I sort of didn't eat.  I overslept for work, and in the rushing around to get out of the house to work/school, I just couldn't find the time to make a breakfast for myself.  I packed extra food in the lunch bag to compensate, and I thought I'd eat once I got to work.  All I ate, though, from waking up at 7:30am to about 8:00pm, was a cup of coffee and one cheese stick, and water.  My appetite has been diminishing, but this is ridiculous.  Andrew and I ended up visiting Steve at work (he works at Weaver Street Market--a kick ass natural foods store, for the uninitiated), and nothing started bothering me until we were leaving and there were baskets of "staffed" food, things that were free for employees.  There were tubs of pimiento cheese, fresh fruit, cookies, and....cupcakes.  I managed to hang on until we left and were in the parking lot.  I then steered the car defiantly towards a Wendy's and got a burger and fries.  However, I found I couldn't eat all of it.  A few fries, about 2/3 of the sandwich, and I bagged up the remainder and threw it in the apartment dumpster so I wouldn't be tempted later.  Progress, not perfection....

I am hanging on for the weekend.  To not have to be anywhere by a certain time.  I am looking forward to getting out on my own on Saturday night, and my men will have a boys' night in without me (yay!), and Sunday morning, where I will go again and leave the boys for an hour or two.  Then it's back to the mines.  But in the meantime, I pushed myself hard for my workout, and I will be sure to take time to eat and eat well tomorrow.  I will see you then!

Day Thirty-Two...Greased Lightning!

Another day, another dollar.  Well, no.

Pretty laid back day.  Last night was wild, though.  I was going to bed (late, again) and had just turned off the lights and was laying on my side, looking out the windows when there was this unbelievably bright greenish blue light and sizzling sounds and WHHOOOOMMMP, all the lights, all the electricity, were out like candles.  As I laid there, feeling my heart rate climb (it doesn't take much), there was a flicker and then another seriously bigger flash and buzzing sound and then complete and utter silence.  It was pitch black and I was sitting in bed like a scared little Girl Scout after ghost stories around the campfire.  Seriously, I own up to it...I was s-c-a-r-e-d.

I'm one of those people that are wound a little tight.  For example, when you're vacuuming and you're in the zone, spacing out, just hearing the loud drone of the vacuum, and then someone comes up behind you and taps you on the shoulder?  You know, where you just about bust a lung yelping and you jump out of your skin?  I'm wired like that all the time.  Sometimes I just have that fight or flight reaction for no reason, just out of the blue.  I hate it when I read about people likening adrenaline flowing through their veins like champagne, 'cause let me tell you, those prickly bubbles sting!  So when the mothership (or whatever the hell it was) landed last night, I could feel the adrenaline prickling in the backs of my hands, in my throat as it closed over, and all over my back.  I crept out of bed, trying to see in the dark and get to the flashlight.  I know now what a complete city girl I am because, while I appreciate nature and a starry sky and deer and stuff, I never realized how dependent I am on ambient city lighting (stuff like streetlamps, stoplights, car headlights, etc).  I felt like I could have poked myself in the eye and not have seen it.  I called to Steve and asked him to come to me...like I was eight years old again.  It was wild and humbling.

Steve and I (like a couple of ninnies) went outside with our flashlights and peered around the neighborhood to see how much of it was out of power.  All of my neighborhood was completely out.  It was as if flat black paint had been coated all over everything.  There was no moon, no stars, just a steady, cloudy sky with a drizzling of rain.  There had been no lightning, and I had heard no thunder at all.  We guessed that a transformer or two had blown, and finally we got back into bed (with a candle for little ole me).

The power came back on in a few hours, and between that, and Andrew waking up two or three times in the night (water, company, breakfast at 4am), I am amazed I have any energy at all.  Granted, coffee figured largely into my day.  I love that stuff, seriously.  Big huge fan of it.  That's the crap that's flowing through my veins, thank you very much.  But I didn't go running.  Sue me, the mothership landed last night and sapped my strength for the day.  I did eat well and have been productive in other ways, but I also did something funky to my left thigh muscles when I was lifting weights last night.  It was just a twinge, but now I am noticing it when I climb stairs, and when I get up and move around after sitting for more than a few minutes.  Since I had little sleep and have a twitchy weird leg, I decided to give myself permission to miss a workout this week.  I had been figuring on having elusive perfect week.  All workouts done, all meals well-made and healthy.  When will I ever remember that little tidbit about life being about progress, not perfection?

Probably the day after I stop spouting adrenaline like a humpack whale spouts water.  G'night.  See you tomorrow!