There is nothing quite so discouraging as trying on a pair of your shorts and discovering that they don't fit any more. Really don't fit.
The number: 263
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Monday, January 27, 2014
Thanks for the Run, Kelly
I discovered something amazing today. Long-time runners out there are going to roll their eyes and groan, here but be gentle with me, ok? I'm still a newbie at this.
My big discovery? It really really matters what music you're listening to.
This morning, I start my workout as usual by turning on the Pandora station on my phone and walking for 5 minutes. Then I push the treadmill button to make it go faster and actually start running. And - it felt amazing. I felt like a rock star. I felt like I was kicking butt and could go on doing so forever. Which is a little strange because usually Mondays are really harsh, getting up so early after the weekend and particularly with my inadvertent no-running-on-Fridays policy. But I felt great. I felt like a commercial for energy drinks.
And then I figured it out. The song I was listening to, "My Life Would Suck Without You" (I know, I go for the really highbrow stuff when I'm running) by Kelly Clarkson, had a beat that exactly matched my running stride. I was running on speed 4.0 (No idea if that's just an arbitrary number, or a measurement of some kind.) and my feet were pounding the treadmill exactly in time to the beat. It was exhilarating.
And now I want to try to figure out if there's some place I could look up other songs with this same beat. Don't musical scores sometimes have recommended setting for the metronome? Maybe I could figure that out and search for other songs that way? I don't know, but I've gotta find out because in case I've been unclear here, it was
AWESOME.
The number: 262. Ouch.
My big discovery? It really really matters what music you're listening to.
This morning, I start my workout as usual by turning on the Pandora station on my phone and walking for 5 minutes. Then I push the treadmill button to make it go faster and actually start running. And - it felt amazing. I felt like a rock star. I felt like I was kicking butt and could go on doing so forever. Which is a little strange because usually Mondays are really harsh, getting up so early after the weekend and particularly with my inadvertent no-running-on-Fridays policy. But I felt great. I felt like a commercial for energy drinks.
And then I figured it out. The song I was listening to, "My Life Would Suck Without You" (I know, I go for the really highbrow stuff when I'm running) by Kelly Clarkson, had a beat that exactly matched my running stride. I was running on speed 4.0 (No idea if that's just an arbitrary number, or a measurement of some kind.) and my feet were pounding the treadmill exactly in time to the beat. It was exhilarating.
And now I want to try to figure out if there's some place I could look up other songs with this same beat. Don't musical scores sometimes have recommended setting for the metronome? Maybe I could figure that out and search for other songs that way? I don't know, but I've gotta find out because in case I've been unclear here, it was
AWESOME.
The number: 262. Ouch.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Fridays
Fridays are hard.
For several weeks in a row, it seemed like all the bad stuff and upheaval was happening on Friday, and now that things have settled back down, I still haven't managed to get to the gym on a Friday. For two weeks I have dragged my warm, cozy self out from under the covers and out into the (very) cold, harsh world, once on Monday, and again on Wednesday. I have ran/walked my little heart out (I am back up to warmup, 8 minutes running, 3 walking, 8 running, cool down), listened to my tunes and watched a bewildering collection of infomercials, home improvement and weather channel on the big, silent gym TVs.
But not on Friday. Last week my phone completely failed to go off (Actually I suspect that Big Bit had switched the volume controls.) and this week I opened my eyes, lay there for a few moments dredging up the willpower to move and realized that I was wheezing. Not from a stopped up nose but something in my chest making a distinct whistling sound whenever I breathed.
Immediately I quoted my heath and fitness teacher's guidelines for exercise to The Husband (Sick above the neck, exercise. Sick below the neck, don't exercise.) and rolled back over. I felt distinctly guilty at the time but have continued to wheeze all day and have developed a low grade fever, so I feel like it was a good call, even if not entirely unbiased.
I really am going to get back to weighing myself regularly but right now - the floor is seriously icy and warmth should be treasured.
For several weeks in a row, it seemed like all the bad stuff and upheaval was happening on Friday, and now that things have settled back down, I still haven't managed to get to the gym on a Friday. For two weeks I have dragged my warm, cozy self out from under the covers and out into the (very) cold, harsh world, once on Monday, and again on Wednesday. I have ran/walked my little heart out (I am back up to warmup, 8 minutes running, 3 walking, 8 running, cool down), listened to my tunes and watched a bewildering collection of infomercials, home improvement and weather channel on the big, silent gym TVs.
But not on Friday. Last week my phone completely failed to go off (Actually I suspect that Big Bit had switched the volume controls.) and this week I opened my eyes, lay there for a few moments dredging up the willpower to move and realized that I was wheezing. Not from a stopped up nose but something in my chest making a distinct whistling sound whenever I breathed.
Immediately I quoted my heath and fitness teacher's guidelines for exercise to The Husband (Sick above the neck, exercise. Sick below the neck, don't exercise.) and rolled back over. I felt distinctly guilty at the time but have continued to wheeze all day and have developed a low grade fever, so I feel like it was a good call, even if not entirely unbiased.
I really am going to get back to weighing myself regularly but right now - the floor is seriously icy and warmth should be treasured.
Monday, January 13, 2014
So... Hi... Again.
So, hi. It's been a while. No, I didn't make my Christmas goal of losing significant weight, or being in a 5K. Maybe sometime later I'll explore that some more, the whys and wherefores, and how much and if they matter.Too much to delve into as it is.
It was a rough Christmas season in some ways. I ended up working REALLY hard making presents and we were out of town unusually long, and our Christmas week schedule was crazy. Nuts. Insane by nearly any metric. For 7 straight days, we had a major party/event every single day. Oh, I tell a lie. There was one day, Monday, where we didn't have anything going on. If by that you mean trying to wrap half a dozen presents, split our time evenly between both sets of in-laws, whilst managing two small boys and knitting like a fiend.
There was a fair bit of "oh who cares it's Christmas" kind of eating. Cookies were readily available at all times. I made the mistake of taking down my new favorite kind of cookie (molasses cookies). There were also cheese balls, and my mom makes a pretty killer cheese ball. Oh and my mother-in-law makes candy. All different kinds. From scratch, yes. I am unworthy. Mostly, though, the consumption stayed within normal, acceptable limits. Except maybe when I got that second (huge) piece of standing rib roast at Christmas Eve Dinner (believe me, it deserves the capital) because it was AMAZING and come on this was definitely a once a year kind of meal.
So then we come home and lie around limply for a few days, recovering, enjoying the home-ness, eating a fair bit of cheese for whatever reason and a couple days after New Years the Husband gets a Call.
It's his grandmother. It's the end. Or at least now the end is coming. Any time in the next couple of days.
So we rush back down and yes. It is the end. We were both there. It was a holy time that I have a hard time describing. You have to use this sort of intense tone, where simple words like "good" and "breathed" and "left" are infused with so much more meaning than they usually carry around.
But much like a birth, it is holy moments interspersed with earthly, practical ones. We drift between her bedside and the kitchen table downstairs. What's for lunch? Has anyone thought about lunch? There are Belgian chocolates on the counter. A big box of them, someone's Christmas gift. I circle back to them every so often. I never took more than one at a time. I'm proud of that. On the floor, the kids chase the dog. Little Bit waves a sticky chew toy and squawks when it's taken from him.
We are grieving. Shouldn't that mean that calories don't count? Have they no decency? To show up at a funeral, after a funeral at the late lunch spread for the family with plates and plates of fried chicken and ten different desserts?
It shouldn't matter. I should be able to stuff my face if that's what my heart needs to do. There will never, ever be another Oma, and that is a loss that shouldn't be taken lightly. It should supersede petty weight loss issues. But the problem is, there isn't really an endgame here. This is not one bad day that I can cure with an over-sized bowl of brownies and ice cream. She is gone. She will be gone tomorrow, and the next day. She will be gone next Christmas. I know, I know that I will see her again, I know that she had been sick and in pain for a long time, but still - she is gone. I can't live on chocolate for the next year while we all learn to go on without her.
Somehow, I've got to separate how I process emotion from the experience of eating food. While we pick up the pieces, while I begin a challenging season at work, I have to make good, non-emotion-driven choices. I am still not good at this. My various "rules" from last year are sort of out the window. There is a large bowl of icing in my fridge that the Husband and I have been sneaking spoons out of. But.
But.
This morning I got up at 6 am, drove to a gym, showed them my shiny new ID number, and climbed up on a treadmill to run. I walked/ran for 29 minutes and 1.29 miles.
When I pulled into my driveway, there was a beautiful, picture-perfect dawn on my left. The blues, the golds, the wispy clouds - this sunrise was spectacular. And on my right, there was a rainbow. A beautiful, vivid rainbow that reached across the sky in a perfect arch of hope and promise.
I am not even kidding you right now.
It was a rough Christmas season in some ways. I ended up working REALLY hard making presents and we were out of town unusually long, and our Christmas week schedule was crazy. Nuts. Insane by nearly any metric. For 7 straight days, we had a major party/event every single day. Oh, I tell a lie. There was one day, Monday, where we didn't have anything going on. If by that you mean trying to wrap half a dozen presents, split our time evenly between both sets of in-laws, whilst managing two small boys and knitting like a fiend.
There was a fair bit of "oh who cares it's Christmas" kind of eating. Cookies were readily available at all times. I made the mistake of taking down my new favorite kind of cookie (molasses cookies). There were also cheese balls, and my mom makes a pretty killer cheese ball. Oh and my mother-in-law makes candy. All different kinds. From scratch, yes. I am unworthy. Mostly, though, the consumption stayed within normal, acceptable limits. Except maybe when I got that second (huge) piece of standing rib roast at Christmas Eve Dinner (believe me, it deserves the capital) because it was AMAZING and come on this was definitely a once a year kind of meal.
So then we come home and lie around limply for a few days, recovering, enjoying the home-ness, eating a fair bit of cheese for whatever reason and a couple days after New Years the Husband gets a Call.
It's his grandmother. It's the end. Or at least now the end is coming. Any time in the next couple of days.
So we rush back down and yes. It is the end. We were both there. It was a holy time that I have a hard time describing. You have to use this sort of intense tone, where simple words like "good" and "breathed" and "left" are infused with so much more meaning than they usually carry around.
But much like a birth, it is holy moments interspersed with earthly, practical ones. We drift between her bedside and the kitchen table downstairs. What's for lunch? Has anyone thought about lunch? There are Belgian chocolates on the counter. A big box of them, someone's Christmas gift. I circle back to them every so often. I never took more than one at a time. I'm proud of that. On the floor, the kids chase the dog. Little Bit waves a sticky chew toy and squawks when it's taken from him.
We are grieving. Shouldn't that mean that calories don't count? Have they no decency? To show up at a funeral, after a funeral at the late lunch spread for the family with plates and plates of fried chicken and ten different desserts?
It shouldn't matter. I should be able to stuff my face if that's what my heart needs to do. There will never, ever be another Oma, and that is a loss that shouldn't be taken lightly. It should supersede petty weight loss issues. But the problem is, there isn't really an endgame here. This is not one bad day that I can cure with an over-sized bowl of brownies and ice cream. She is gone. She will be gone tomorrow, and the next day. She will be gone next Christmas. I know, I know that I will see her again, I know that she had been sick and in pain for a long time, but still - she is gone. I can't live on chocolate for the next year while we all learn to go on without her.
Somehow, I've got to separate how I process emotion from the experience of eating food. While we pick up the pieces, while I begin a challenging season at work, I have to make good, non-emotion-driven choices. I am still not good at this. My various "rules" from last year are sort of out the window. There is a large bowl of icing in my fridge that the Husband and I have been sneaking spoons out of. But.
But.
This morning I got up at 6 am, drove to a gym, showed them my shiny new ID number, and climbed up on a treadmill to run. I walked/ran for 29 minutes and 1.29 miles.
When I pulled into my driveway, there was a beautiful, picture-perfect dawn on my left. The blues, the golds, the wispy clouds - this sunrise was spectacular. And on my right, there was a rainbow. A beautiful, vivid rainbow that reached across the sky in a perfect arch of hope and promise.
I am not even kidding you right now.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Apathy
I am seriously backsliding. And discouraged. And being discouraged feels bad, so I'm pushing aside the discouragement for something that doesn't hurt as bad, like maybe apathy.
Not a great choice, I know.
I am still on the sweets only Saturday and Sunday bandwagon, although I am struggling some with portion sizes, particularly with starches and cheese. But exercising - exercising has been non-existent.
Every morning I wake up and my nose is cold and I snuggle deeper under the covers and say "Maybe I'll run later." And later never comes.
Many sighs.
The number: 252
Not a great choice, I know.
I am still on the sweets only Saturday and Sunday bandwagon, although I am struggling some with portion sizes, particularly with starches and cheese. But exercising - exercising has been non-existent.
Every morning I wake up and my nose is cold and I snuggle deeper under the covers and say "Maybe I'll run later." And later never comes.
Many sighs.
The number: 252
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Oh Hai
So, yes. Blog. Ahem. I was going to do that.
The "no sugar M-F" rule, though brutal at times, has been going fairly well. Simple rules = kept rules. However, I do my grocery shopping on Saturday (which, as you might have noticed, is the weekend), and so I was in "sugar: ok" mode as I was shopping. So all of my snacks were sugary. (Don't worry, by all I mean "both of the two.") Which worked great for Saturday. And Sunday. Not so much the rest of the week. Must buy non-sugar snacks. Must remember that weeks consist of more than weekends. Must not buy unsalted Saltines unless the rest of the grocery list consists of uber-healthiness. I do not munch, eat or consume unsalted Saltines. I inhale them. I can eat an entire box (that is, 4 tubes) within 36 hours without breaking a sweat or thinking that's abnormal. If given Sleepytime tea, unsalted Saltines and slices of cheddar, I will eat and drink until one of them gives out, regardless of how long that takes. There are some things I have no defenses against. Unsalted Saltines is one of them.
The running? Um, what running. I am going to blame The Husband, a smidge. His new job means he has to leave 15 minutes earlier. And getting up 15 minutes earlier to run? Particularly as the season is changing and making that time darker? It's just not happening. Gotta fix that.
The number: 113.8 kilograms.
Apparently our bathroom scale is set on kilograms. No idea why.
Google says that is 250 pounds.
The "no sugar M-F" rule, though brutal at times, has been going fairly well. Simple rules = kept rules. However, I do my grocery shopping on Saturday (which, as you might have noticed, is the weekend), and so I was in "sugar: ok" mode as I was shopping. So all of my snacks were sugary. (Don't worry, by all I mean "both of the two.") Which worked great for Saturday. And Sunday. Not so much the rest of the week. Must buy non-sugar snacks. Must remember that weeks consist of more than weekends. Must not buy unsalted Saltines unless the rest of the grocery list consists of uber-healthiness. I do not munch, eat or consume unsalted Saltines. I inhale them. I can eat an entire box (that is, 4 tubes) within 36 hours without breaking a sweat or thinking that's abnormal. If given Sleepytime tea, unsalted Saltines and slices of cheddar, I will eat and drink until one of them gives out, regardless of how long that takes. There are some things I have no defenses against. Unsalted Saltines is one of them.
The running? Um, what running. I am going to blame The Husband, a smidge. His new job means he has to leave 15 minutes earlier. And getting up 15 minutes earlier to run? Particularly as the season is changing and making that time darker? It's just not happening. Gotta fix that.
The number: 113.8 kilograms.
Apparently our bathroom scale is set on kilograms. No idea why.
Google says that is 250 pounds.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
New Resolution and Motivation
Life is calming back down from the Weeks of Crazy, although it's been oddly difficult to pick up the pieces. I mean, we had a system, more or less, and then for a couple of weeks the system was trashed, and now it's like there never was any system to begin with, and we have start from scratch with everything. One of those things is the sweets plan. I think it needs to be simpler. (Also, I need to follow the plan instead of just thinking about following the plan.)
New plan: Sweets are allowed on weekends only, with the exception of sweet coffee. No dessert at all, Monday-Friday. None. *Sigh* *Sniff* *Tears*
I have a new motivation to lose weight. I have bought my clothes at Lane Bryant for years, and in general have been very happy with how the clothes are designed for larger women, rather than simply sizing up a design that is meant to flatter a stick figure. However, more recently I've been getting more and more dissatisfied with the quality of the clothing. The fabrics are super-thin and simply don't stand up to normal usage and washing. My dissatisfaction culminated this week when the elastic snapped on a relatively new blouse and I discovered that in addition the other casings were coming undone. That's just poor quality. Unacceptably poor quality.
OK, then. No more Lane Bryant.
I returned the blouse, got my store credit, used it to buy lip gloss and gave the remaining $2* to one of the saleswomen that I am friends with. And then left, wiping the dust from my feet as I did so. (Don't worry, this was just in my rather melodramatic head. I offended no one.)
So now I will need to clothe myself either by the skill of my own hands, which I don't have the time for, or by shopping at stores that think a size 14 is the upper limit.
*Sigh* I am 50 lbs away from being a size 14. I know I've done some good, hard things here (I might secretly like running!) but right now I'm just discouraged and fifty pounds seems impossible.
The number: 256
*This makes it sound like I'm getting bent out of shape over the quality of a $5 t-shirt. Originally the shirt would have cost $23, but because I did not have a receipt, they gave me the sale price of $7, which I understood and was fine with.
New plan: Sweets are allowed on weekends only, with the exception of sweet coffee. No dessert at all, Monday-Friday. None. *Sigh* *Sniff* *Tears*
I have a new motivation to lose weight. I have bought my clothes at Lane Bryant for years, and in general have been very happy with how the clothes are designed for larger women, rather than simply sizing up a design that is meant to flatter a stick figure. However, more recently I've been getting more and more dissatisfied with the quality of the clothing. The fabrics are super-thin and simply don't stand up to normal usage and washing. My dissatisfaction culminated this week when the elastic snapped on a relatively new blouse and I discovered that in addition the other casings were coming undone. That's just poor quality. Unacceptably poor quality.
OK, then. No more Lane Bryant.
I returned the blouse, got my store credit, used it to buy lip gloss and gave the remaining $2* to one of the saleswomen that I am friends with. And then left, wiping the dust from my feet as I did so. (Don't worry, this was just in my rather melodramatic head. I offended no one.)
So now I will need to clothe myself either by the skill of my own hands, which I don't have the time for, or by shopping at stores that think a size 14 is the upper limit.
*Sigh* I am 50 lbs away from being a size 14. I know I've done some good, hard things here (I might secretly like running!) but right now I'm just discouraged and fifty pounds seems impossible.
The number: 256
*This makes it sound like I'm getting bent out of shape over the quality of a $5 t-shirt. Originally the shirt would have cost $23, but because I did not have a receipt, they gave me the sale price of $7, which I understood and was fine with.
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