Weigh In: Excuses I tell myself

My husband was on the verge of staging an intervention last week after reading three posts in a row staring photos of my pasty white feet on the scale. He threatened to hide my scale after explaining to me that I am healthy and that’s the most important thing.

Sigh. I know. First, he’s nice. Two, I clearly need to periodically write about things other than my scale. Three, let’s all agree he probably won’t like that I’m about to post another photo of the scale. And I swear I'm going to start writing about other things.  But it was a hectic week and I got distracted. But I swear I don't need an intervention:

Not the windfall of lost weight I had been hoping for after pushing through That Time of the Month week. But down .8 pounds is still .8 pounds less than last week.  And at least we’re headed in the right direction. That’s always a positive.  On the other hand, I successfully resisted donuts, freshly baked cinnamon rolls, a free 2 liter of Dr. Pepper in the fridge at work, creamy stroganoff, a pot of rice I was ready to face plant into and Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. So what the hell is up with .8? Can’t a girl at least get that number to round off to a full pound lost.

Eh.

While reminding myself that .8 is actually a loss and that any loss is actually a good thing and all that rah rah rah crap, I did manage to find time to brainstorm my top 8 excuses I have given consideration to this week to blame for my scale not showing me what I want to see:

Excuses I tell myself when the scale doesn’t read the way I think it should:
1. I must not be eating enough calories. I can’t begin to tell you how much I wish this one was true. I should be so lucky.

2. I must be eating too many calories. Strongest candidate on this list. All day everyday.

3. I must be building muscle. Because everyone knows muscle weighs more than fat. And Project “Do an actual pushup” is still in effect. Except if I gained this amount of weight every time I lifted some weights, I’d be 437 pounds by now. And since I’m not, there are some holes in this story.

4. The battery in my scale must be dying. Despite the fact that the screen is just as bright and lit up as always.

5. That wet towel on the side of the tub just touched the scale before I got on so they obviously left water on the scale and that made the number go up.  Except my scale automatically zeroes itself every time it starts.

6. I must need to go to the bathroom. Clearly there's a lack of fiber in my diet and I will just be sure I suck a few fiber pills down.

7. I ate too much salty stuff yesterday. I reached that conclusion one day this week after noticing that my favorite 45 calories for 2 tablespoons Caesar dressing has 280 mg of salt. That’s a lot of salt. Clearly the dressing is the problem. Clearly eating dry salad for lunch should fix that.

8. I must need to exercise more to burn more calories. Next thing I know I’m on Amazon buying a Fitbit Flex. This will clearly fix everything.

Weigh In: That Time of the Month

This week was the lead in to That Time of The Month and several days of full fledged That Time of The Month for me. Naturally, we decided to eat out two days in a row. And naturally, we went for Mexican so I face planted into a giant bowl of chips and salsa both times. One time I washed the three zillion chips down with a margarita. One time I resisted the siren’s call. And naturally, my old friend the scale laughed in my face when I climbed on. Then we got closer to the full fledged That Time of the Month and the scale laughed in my face a little extra.

That Time of the Month is by far the most demoralizing if you are a daily scale watcher like me. Two days before, I usually mysteriously float upward by at least a pound. To add insult to injury, I will have exercised and eaten well the day before, too. And if you are doing what you are supposed to be doing and the scale heads upward that’s wrong on every level and messes with my head. The next day, I’ll float another half a pound up. By the time it’s showtime and it’s an actual wings day, the scale will imploding. This go round it imploded the day of hitting 156.6 pounds. What the what?

It’s really, really, really hard not to suck down a 44 ounce Dr. Pepper after seeing that number. It’s also really, really, really hard not to want to shove all the food everywhere into my mouth all at once. Every bad habit begs you to revert back. Every instinct in your body wants to give up. And the hormones in your body second that emotion. A lot. They also like to ramp up the drama inside your head pointing out your every flaw and the complete futility of even trying to lose weight ever again.

So when you successfully close out the day and the worst thing you did was have a slice of cake at a going away party you call it a good day. Because at least you didn’t have 2 pieces of cake. And the next morning, the scale does you a solid and goes down .2 and you actually take that as a good sign. And then you scrape yourself together enough to exercise for 30 minutes before work. And the next morning it floats down a little more. 

I didn't even take a picture of my 156.6 thanks to the shock and awe descending on my soul.

But holy cow alll that floating is annoying. Mainly because it’s so vague and nothing you can count on. Because it floats downward, too. And every day it floats down you hope it’s not done floating down and that it will magically float down some more tomorrow. But you don’t know if it will. So you’re stuck hoping and crossing your fingers. But a hoping and hoping and hoping and hoping is hard. Because it’s like you’re throwing so much good effort down a useless black hole. It’s discouraging is what it is. Discouraging.

By this morning I’ve floated back down to 154.6 pounds. My husband tried to be enthusiastic when I had floated down into the 155s. I tried to not kill his enthusiasm and just said thank you. He’s a supportive fellow and I’m appreciative. And the 155s are better than 204.4. So there’s that. But seriously. Go away That Time of the Month. Go away and take with you the magical extra pounds that float in and out to torture my scale watching soul.

The award for worst scale shot lighting ever goes to this girl right here.

And feel free to take the Papa John’s pizza leftover from dinner last night with you, too. Because heaven help me I wanted to inhale every last piece. I even put 2 pieces on my plate mentally throwing in the towel on a good weigh in the next day. And then after I changed out of my work clothes my will to succeed got back from break and I marched myself right back downstairs to put one of the pieces back in the box and make myself a salad instead. But it was touch and go. Because I was feeling vulnerable. And the extra cheese was calling to me. But I put on my big girl panties and did it. And I should get a good weigh in out of, dang it.

But difficult weeks are what make or break your success. I believe that. Pushing through the difficult upward floating sets you up for a great weigh in the next week. Because you’ll have parted with the extra magical floating pounds plus you’ll have a good week and lose whatever you’d normally lose in a good week. And then your weigh in will be like a double weigh in almost with 2 weeks worth of loss. Except you have to successfully not throw in the towel. And that’s hard. Really, really, really hard.

Sigh.

But if you can do it, man that weigh in is always a good one. Nothing worth having comes easy. I keep reminding myself that zipping up my size 6 jeans will be worth it. But my brain keeps reminding me that french fries are pretty worth it, too.

More sighing.

So frustrating. But must stay strong. Must add exclamation points to prove I really mean it and can do it!!! Now all I have to do is actually do it!

Weigh In: Hungry

I am now well into my 2nd week since my scale scared me straight and I got back on the wagon to attempt to fit into my size 6 jeans again. Last week, I was at 156.4 and feeling pretty happy to be headed the right direction and breaking bad habits.

Yesterday my scale had me at 153.8 and loving the sight of that “3” in there.

See.  I told you.

Then I got a headache around 3 pm and couldn’t talk myself out of swiping the icing of a leftover piece of birthday cake in the break room at work. And then more icing off the cake plate. And then a giant vat of rice at dinner and cheesy cracker things. And then the headache convinced me that peanut butter on saltines shoved down my gullet was a great idea before bedtime. So not exactly a perfect day. And the scale knew it and went up slightly to 154.2 pounds. Nothing earth shattering but always slightly frustrating to witness and know good and well you did it to yourself and that you coulda woulda shoulda done better.

If I let that coulda woulda shoulda be the only thing I think about this week, it could easily be a real bummer. But coming back here and realizing I was at 156.4 last Friday, I’m thinking I need to shut the hell up. Because that’s 2.2 pounds less than last week. And in what universe is anyone allowed to be even moderately disappointed by losing 2.2 pounds? Not any universe I want to live in. So I’m thankful and happy and hungry to keep going.

Hungry has been the definition of this week for me.

Hungry to get my habits back in place. So I made a list for the grocery store and went shopping. I had a healthy grilled chicken sandwich when we ate out Sunday. And I resisted the lure of donuts when my husband tried to declare it donuts for everyone day on Saturday. Not even one teeny tiny donut hole went in my mouth even though they were in front of me for the taking. Or in the case of a chocolate twist, abandoned half eaten directly in front of me and calling my name. I’ve diligently packed my lunch every day and had a plan for dinner.

But week 2 of a diet is always a big adjustment week for me. I like to think it’s when my stomach protests smaller portions a little and wants to know why it’s not getting more. That’s tough and some days I do better at it than others. Headaches never help. But I did super overanalyze my roughest days this week which included yet another birthday cake that I fully intended to skip until I reminded myself that if you go you should participate.  So there was cake.  And then another small piece.  Then there was my peanut butter and saltines day which I blame on a lack of extra snacks to tide me over.  I kept forgetting to pack raw carrots in my lunch and those are usually my go to snack when I’m hungry and need something that’s barely any calories so I can eat as many as I want. I always figure I can eat a boatload and it’s just a hell of a lot of fiber and possibly a tired jaw from all the chewing. When I don’t have it I end up eating a lot of apples and almonds. Not that those aren’t healthy. They just contain more calories than carrots so they’re not a freebie in my head like carrots are. I’m on top of the carrot situation now and have packed them and shoved them down my gullet since then. And all is feeling right in the world again. 

Much like all feels right in the world when I listen to this song. 

Hungry to finally get back to working out. Saturday and Sunday were both great days for that. Saturday morning I decided I was starting Couch to 5K come hell or high water. Hell or high water turned out to be not getting it done in the morning and then it was 100 degrees outside. I said to hell with it and did it outside anyway on the way to the gym with my husband. #worstideaever My husband rode his bike and periodically shot water at me from his water bottle. He also suggested I run faster so we could hurry up and end it as well as questioning my sanity for thinking that was an acceptable idea.

Once there, I attempted to wipe some of the sweat off my body and let my husband convince me to enter the weighlifting area of my gym. I’ve always headed straight upstairs to the land of treadmills and group exercise classes. They also have a small circuit of weight machines up there that I periodically use. In my mind, the weightlifting area is only for serious people and that you should sort of graduate to that once you get your act together a little. My act isn’t even remotely together.

But it wasn’t crowded and my husband knows his way around a weightlifting room and actually showed me some stuff. He explained how to use several machine things. Then we squatted. As always. My husband has never met a moment he didn’t think was good for squatting. Just finished sprinting? Drop it like a squat. Just finish some push ups? Sounds like we should squat again. I’m still trying to decide if I hate squats or lunges more. I’m going with lunges this time but only because he had us hold weights in our hands while lunging. Just when my scotch tape thighs didn’t think it could be worse you add weight. Perfect.

Sunday I got my sweat on at Zumba. Then I did Couch to 5K 2 more times during the week. My husband also kept claiming we were going to get our workout on several other days but then we mostly overslept or were lazy bums that refused to get up and do anything after dinner. So I’m thinking I need to work on my oversleeping lazy bum issues next. But at least I’m working out again. And I finished C25K Week 4 thanks to my husband convincing me starting with Week 1 seemed overly dramatic. I started with Week 4 and was sweaty hot mess express clock watching for the time to be up. Oh, well.

Down 2.2 pounds this week and still hungry for more. Mostly hungry for stuff you get at a drive thru window. But also hungry to keep going and have more good days than bad.

Weigh In: Sobering

I had finally started to get myself back on the healthy eating train when I recently ran smack into 16 straight days of travel that included roughly 48 hours of driving. Literally.

First there was 17 hours of driving to one place where we spent a week. I’d call it the start of our vacation except I actually attended work related stuff for 3 days while we were ther. I sat in a room in Florida watching PowerPoint presentations while my husband and kids hit the beach, goofed on in a museum and texted me photos of their late breakfasts that included stacks of fluffy pancakes with a mound of whip cream on top. I don’t care how much you love your family. Being the one on PowerPoint duty in that scenario tests your ability to be generous of spirit.

3 minutes after the last PowerPoint ended my husband had us back in the car driving another 8 hours. After which we spent a week in a rental house on the beach in North Carolina. There was pretty much vodka coming out of the kitchen faucet and much drinking was done by all adults. An old school ice cream truck also came by roughly ever 12 minutes and how do you resist your 8 year old wanting ice cream in the shape of Sponge Bob served from the side of a van. You don’t. That’s how. You don’t. Instead you sprint up the steps of that beach house to find your wallet while your 8 year old stands unattended next to the street waving the van down. By the time you sprint back with the wallet, you’re will to resist is just as tired as your lungs are and you inhale a $3 ice cream sandwich without even thinking about it.

The return trip from the beach house was a mere 23 hours of driving. We accomplished that in a day and a half. Oh, the joy.

I returned to work the next day and immediately recounted for the world my cross country trek drive thru by drive thru and one extra large Dr. Pepper at a time. But I didn’t really need to. The pants that wouldn't fit were already doing the talking for me. Not to mention the scale telling me I was a lovely 159.6 pounds.

That’s 15.2 pounds over my lowest weight which was 144.4 pounds last may. It's also roughly 7 pounds higher than where I was when I had beem righting the ship on my healthy eating before I left on vacation. But even more than that, it was sobering. Because that's like one Twinkie away from 160. And almost 160 may as well be 160. And 160 is a slippery slope to 170 and 170 may as well be 204.4 pounds as far as I’m concerned and that's where I started and that's where I was profoundly embarrassed and ashamed and I had clearly lost my way. It was a stone cold sober moment in my bathroom. 160 is the bright line of unacceptable. Pretty sure 150 really needs to be from now on. But I know 160 is right now. Going over 160 is a deal breaker.

So, this stone cold sober female packed her lunch, sucked down a gallon of water and coped with caffeine and sugar withdrawals the rest of the day. And she woke up to 159.2 pounds the next day.
Make no mistake. That was water weight I parted with. I certainly didn't burn .4 pounds in one day. Parting with water weight happens every time I’ve been on a bender and go back to giving up soda. But I'll take it. Because a quick loss can fuel another good day and the scale rewarded me again the next day reading 157 pounds.

And that fueled another good day right up until I got stuck cutting cake at work at an awards celebration type thing and the cake smelled good and it’d be rude not to celebrate with the winners and then if you’re going to have 1 piece what’s the hard in a second small piece.

Three seconds after I finished the 2nd piece I started beating myself up about it. I felt a little fear in the dark corner inside my soul that fears this time losing weight will be like others and that the real me will eventually surface to gain the weight back. I also came up with stupid theories about not eating anything for the rest of the day to make up for those calories. This classic maneuver never works since you become starvin’ Marvin and begin shoving all the food into your face roughly 5 hours later thereby turning one mistake into a complete and utter trainwreck of a day that leaves you disillusioned and prone to giving up the next day figuring there’s no point in starting again.

Instead, I put on my big girl panties and had the healthy lunch I’d planned and spent the rest of the day behaving myself. And I held firm at 157 the next morning and, lo, there was much joy in my heart.

Holding at 157 despite the cake incident even fueled a good day. Not great because I did get a McDonald’s soft serve ice cream cone with my husband. But when your husband wants to toodle with you for an ice cream cone you say yes and enoy the toodle and remind yourself those were only 3 weight watchers points back when you did weight watchers points several years ago so you know it’s not breaking the bank an otherwise good day. And the scale backs you up on this theory with 156 the next morning. Holla.

The first week of getting back on the wagon and attempting to lose weight is hard. You have to break bad habits. You’re more hungry than usual. And you might even get a headache from giving up caffeine. And you may forget to say no when your brain suggests the 2nd piece of cake. But the scale is your friend during the first week. I’m not under the impression I actually burned 3.6 pounds worth of calories this week. Especially since I know I haven’t been doing much exercise to burn much of anything. But I have been eating better and it’s enough that the scale is moving in the right direction and telling me I’m doing something right. By this time next week, the scale most likely won’t be by friend anymore. So I’ll take my inspiration where I can. Because you have to start somewhere.

This female is scared straight.

Nothing says vacation like shoving random hats on your head in the souveir store.  It helps if you don't think too much about whose head the hat was on before you.

I even tracked my food in My Fitness Pal. For one day anyway. But I haven’t done that in months.  So there. And yesterday I downloaded the Couch to 5K app again. Even if I feel stupid starting at ground zero, apparently that’s what I need.

Stone cold sober, people.

Things I did today

1. Realized I’m finally starting to feel better and that I can no longer blame my ultra bad food choices and general laziness on not feeling well. Besides, exercise gives you energy and helps you feel good. Google says so. So does Pinterest.

2. Weighed myself and decided I need to drop a few pounds. 152.4 pounds. Up from 144.4 my lowest weight. My husband would probably tell you he thought that might have been verging on waify. He also thinks he’s practically a hippie when his hair starts to grow past the top of his ears. He goes his own way. It’s part of his charm. But 152 is most definitely maintaining the Jelly Belly. The Jelly Belly isn’t going anywhere until some of the 152 goes somewhere. I’m also pretty convinced I could run a tiny bit faster than my usual slow crawl if I weighed less. But mostly it just feels like I’m permanently trapped in the 152 neighborhood. Like I bought a house there and then the property values went down and now I’m upside down on my mortgage and who in their right mind would buy it at that price. I’m going to need to break the cycle.

3. Decided I need to start running again in order to run a tiny bit faster than my usual crawl. I haven't been running much since I wasn't feeling well. I started wondering if I need to do Couch to 5K again. Talk about a sobering moment. Also probably slightly overdramatic. Whatever. 3. Started reading This Is Why You're Fat by Jackie Warnerevery chance I get. She has me convinced I’m addicted to sugar, bread, rice and pasta and I've decided I have to give them up. She also convinced me to drop a pretty penny online for supplements she claims I need.

4. Did not have two slices of Honey Wheat Toast with a smear of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter on it. I always have two slices of Honey Wheat toast with a smear of I Can’t Believe It’s not Butter on it. And I wanted to. But I didn’t. Scrambled eggs for the win.

5. Decided I need to hard boil some eggs. I don’t think I’m capable of scrambling eggs every morning.

6. Actually got up from my desk to take my two 15 minute breaks at work. In the morning, I dragged my lazy carcass up and down 8 flights of stairs 3 times. I had the nerve to start out jogging up the first 2 flights. As if. By the 8th floor I was a panting mess and moderately concerned a coworker was going to come into the stairwell and think I was having a heart attack. In the afternoon, I hit the tiny old gym in my building. It’s mostly treadmills and some weight machines. Project Push Up was in the back of my head trying to convince me to get on the floor and knock a few out. My fear of disgusting old carpet kept me upright though. I checked out the barbells and all the different weight machines. I even hopped on the treadmill to do some sprints to get my heart rate up. And by sprints I mean I put the speed on 7 for 2 minutes and quickly realized I wasn’t wearing a sports bra. Awkward. But it did get my heart rate up. It also nearly flung my badge up into my face on its stretchy cord. Holla at a player, yo. Fitting it in where I can.

7. Started over. Again. This is a place I’ve been before. Too many times to count.

8. Forgave myself for having to start over. It happens. Doesn’t make me a bad person. Just makes me human. Nothing worth having comes easy.

Maintaining is hard, too

I weighed myself four days ago and was 159 pounds. That is 15 pounds heavier than I was in May of 2013. That is not good.

In the year since losing 60 pounds, it’s been interesting to learn that losing weight is hard. But keeping it off is hard, too.  It's a different hard.  A hard that can sort of creep up on you.  A hard that can let you get comfortable and loosen the reigns on the habits that got you there.

I’ve kept exercising since losing the 60 pounds.  But I found myself slipping up to 148 pound range.  Then I kind of settled there and considered it a nice maintanable spot that I'd bounce around depending on what I ate the day before. It felt like a good weight for me. Maybe I just say that because I was wearing baggy size 8 jeans and I finally trained my brain that I wear a size medium not an XL.

Then I started training for a marathon. It burns a lot of calories and definitely put some muscle on my legs. Muscle weighs more and my size 8s were still baggy so 148 to 150 still felt pretty good. But as marathon training went on, the long runs got longer and the valley of hunger it created got deeper and deeper. It took a lot of food to fill it up. And filling it up felt really necessary to having enough energy to finish the marathon. So in the final weeks before my marathon, I gave up even guesstimating calories or thinking about it.

I focused on eating healthy stuff so there was lots and lots of fruit, eggs whites and whatever my family was having for dinner that night. I just did the best I could to get me to the finish line. I weighed in after my marathon around 152. I didn’t beat myself up over it. The pride of having finished a marathon made it a lot easier.

But with the marathon done, it was time to return to business as usual. I did fine for awhile. Then I was sore from Crossfit. Then Crossfit was just plain discouraging. And then I gave it up. Then I started at a gym which was exciting. And then I started feeling really, really tired all the time. And then my brain decided it didn't want to function properly anymore. And that’s depressing. And then I became convinced that I’m just plain sick and under the weather. And then the gatekeeper of my waistline went completely off duty and all kinds of crap went down my pie hole. And then I started wearing my size 10 pants to work instead of my 8s. And my size 8 jeans still fit but, gee, they were a lot less baggy. And then I weighed myself and the scale read 157.6 and then I about flipped out. 

The worst possible photo of a scale.  Numbers you can't read and large albino white feet.  It says 157.4.  I took a photo of it because I thought I was busy hitting rock bottom that morning and ready to get back on track.  Shows how much I know. 

But apparently I didn't flip out enough enough because then I sucked down some more Cadbury Mini Eggs and Dr. Pepper and a whole lot of other crap.  And then I weighed myself the next day and the scale read 159.

And then the world shrank to tunnel vision and those numbers were all I could see standing in my bathroom in the dark early morning hours. And then I was still standing on the scale 30 seconds later long after the numbers faded to black. And then I stepped off that scale and felt big, huge and out of control. It especially sucked to feel big, huge and out of control on top of feeling sick. But maybe feeling sick brought it home. Maybe it helped convince me I needed to get it the hell together. I don't know. But what I do know for a fact is that I left that bathroom that morning knowing that’s not who I want to be.

I even started thinking about joining a Weight Watchers meeting. I’ve never gone to a Weight Watchers meeting in my life. After I had kids, I used Weight Watcher points and lost the baby weight. But I did it all online. I never went in person. Then I lost 60 pounds on my own without any Weight Watchers. So it seemed slightly wacky that I would suddenly require meetings to lose 15 pounds. I don’t want to say I have a tendency to overreact. But let's just say I’ve successfully convinced myself to hold off handing over my credit card until I give it a few more days.

This morning I weighed in at 153.4. So I’m already down 5.6 pounds. The tunnel vision is letting up a little.  But weigh ins like that are the ones that lead crazy people to think losing 5.6 pounds in four days is real. It’s not. It’s a lot of water weight that this female right here lets go of every single time she puts down the Dr. Pepper bottle and stays out of the Whataburger drive thru line.

I’m always amazed when people do a 10 day cleanse and are impressed when they lose 6 pounds. Duh. You dropped 4 pounds of water weight just from not eating crap. On top of that, you probably consumed less calories than you burned so you dropped some actual weight that way, too.

But losing an actual pound is equivalent to burning 2500 calories. And this female right here did not burn 13,000 calories over the last 4 days. I’ve mostly sat on my butt behind a desk at work and stayed upright long enough to cook dinner and wash some dishes. I count it as a victory that I successfully didn't freak the hell out when we ran late for soccer. It’s the little things in life. Especially when you don’t feel great.

But I’m back in the saddle and heading in the right direction. It's a start. And I'm happy with that.

Because I didn't think I could

When I drone on at work boring people to tears with accounts of my latest ridiculously long run, the most common question I get is “Why?” As in, why would anyone want to run a marathon. Why would anyone willingly choose to do that? Why me? Why now? Why ever? Why?

In the beginning, my goal in running a marathon was just to continue to up the ante burning more calories. If running burns calories, I figured running more burns more. I also liked the idea of having a goal to keep me on track so I wouldn’t just return to old habits and be in the Whataburger drive thru sucking down Dr. Pepper. I liked the idea that I’m headed towards 40 this year and that this is a great last hurrah to usher me into it. And I really liked the idea that my running was a road I was traveling down progressing from couch to 5K to 10K to half marathon and then full marathon.

Then somewhere along the way, all the extra running led to extra eating and I had to let go of the idea of trying to lose my Jelly Belly while marathon training. Then everything became about supporting the marathon training. Eat more calories so I have energy to run. Rest my legs between runs instead of cross training. I began to look at it as a finish line I was headed towards. There was life before the marathon and then life after the marathon when my normal life would resume.

And then the long runs got ridiculously long. So long they were super intimidating and every fiber of my being looked for an excuse to avoid them. But I made myself do them anyway.

And somewhere along the way I realized that it hadn’t been about the calories or the last hurrah or the path I’m traveling. All along it had been that I didn’t think I could do it. And that’s what had been driving me. That’s what had been getting me up off my lazy duff to haul my butt around the park on Sunday morning. That’s what had been seeing me through the last mile when my calves felt like Jello. That’s what had been driving me to not let my many complaints get the best of me. That’s the guiding force that didn’t let me stray from my path for six long months of training.

I didn’t think I could.

I guess maybe part of me was scared I would quit. Just like I was scared when I first started my health kick and losing weight and worried I’d quit like I had countless times before. That wasn't my first rodeo.  I'd tried and failed more than I can count.  I didn’t know if this time would be different or if it would be the time that  would finally stick. I wanted so badly for it to stick but those other times I’d wanted it badly, too. Or so I thought.  

And I have two kids and a job that requires my butt behind a desk 40 hours a week and a husband whose face I like to see and I just didn't see how I'd find the time or energy.  It just seemed like such a big and difficult task.  So I just didn't know if I could do it.  It just seemed beyond me and beyond what I'm capable of.

But so did losing weight.  So did any of the running goals I'd set before.  So I just did what I'd been doing all along on this health kick.  I came up with the best plan I could and just committed myself to following it.  I made sure the plan included breathing room for weeks where life would get in the way and reasonable expectations not epic ridiculous mountains to climb 7 days a week.  And then I plugged away taking it one run at a time.  And every day I headed out on a run I thought today would be the day I was finally going to quit.  But it wasn’t.  Again and again it wasn't.  And here I am with my marathon 3 days away.

Go figure. 

I can do it.  That's what I now know.  Because it's finally sunk in.  I know in the pit of my stomach that I will get to that finish line.

I’m still scared.  Scared of how badly my legs are going to hurt the last 2 miles.  Scared of how many times I’m going to have to talk myself out of quitting. Scared of how alone I’ll feel out there. Scared of doing something I’ve never done and not knowing what to expect. Scared I will be the slowest of the slowest of slow out there.  Scared of how frantic my brain will feel by the 4th hour of running. Scared of my toenails potentially falling off. Scared of blisters. Scared of chafing. Scared of using multiple port o potties in one day. Scared of how scared I’ll feel. Just scared.

But I know I’ll get there despite that.  This girl.

This girl that was 204.4 pounds a year and a half ago.  She’s scared but she’s going to get out there and do it anyway. By herself. One step at a time. She’s scared but she’ll see you at that finish line. She’ll be a weepy mess but she’ll be there. Because she didn’t think she could and she was wrong.

In the last 3 weeks I’ve been reading one last marathon training book and it’s mainly about mental preparation. My natural instinct was to resist all the cheesy positive thinking crap but I decided my natural instinct was to lay on the couch and never train for a marathon in the first place. So maybe it’s okay to ignore my natural instincts once in awhile.

It has a section about practicing concentration and the ability to consciously focus your mind. Again, I thought it was dumb but did it anyway. I downloaded a free app called Lumosity and do it once a day. It takes all of 3 minutes. I figure even if it’s a ridiculous waste of time, it can’t hurt for 2 weeks.

The book also has a section about thinking up things to distract yourself with while you run. So now I have an ABC game all ready to go where I pick a topic and then go through the alphabet naming things that start with each different letter. Then there’s a section about creating a video in your head that you can sort of play of what your marathon will be like. Mine is a long street stretching out before me and when that starts to feel lonely I picture seeing my husband and kids waiting for me up ahead and then I smile and run toward them. And I’d be a nut to not picture crossing the finish line. So I do. Strong and happy to be done.

And finally, one of the tricks in the book is to write a paragraph I can repeat to myself to build my confidence. You repeat it to yourself while training to convince yourself it’s true. You repeat it during your day to day life to reinforce it. And then you can use it as a mantra to chant to yourself during your darkest marathon hour. Even writing it was powerful for me. Because I’m a girl that talks to herself saying things like, “You can do this.” But the book encourages you to feel empowered and make it “I can do this” instead. Because the ability to do it is inside you not inside someone else. Truer words have never been written. Because no one else is going to run that marathon for me. Just me.

Below is my paragraph. I will be chanting it over and over again Sunday morning. I will chant it loud. I will chant it soft. I will chant it until I believe every word. I’d say it’s going to get me to the finish line but it’s not. Because I’m going to get myself to that finish line. Me and my own 2 feet. 

I can do this. I can do hard things. I came back from 204.4 pounds. I didn’t quit then and I’m not going to quit now. Because I am strong enough to do this. I may not be the fastest. I may not look great doing it. But so what. Because I can do this. And that’s amazing.  I will not stop.  I am a marathoner.

Whole30: Day 1 in the life of a bread addict

I took off work beginning the Friday after Christmas and only just returned yesterday. If Mondays are rough, Mondays after being off for 10 days are hell.

As if returning to the daily grind of work wasn’t enough, I came up with the bright idea of doing The Whole30 Challenge starting yesterday. I read about it last year and immediately dismissed it when I got to the part about giving up bread and beans.

Um. Yeah. This female right here eats toast for breakfast. Two slices of Nature's Own Honey Wheat. With a schmear of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter Light fake processed crap on top. Lunch is usually a bean burrito. Half the time we have ranch style or black beans with dinner, too. And if we don’t, we usually have some sort of potato or rice instead. My husband requires rice with his fish. If you make fish, that man is seriously confused if no rice arrives at the table. It’s not a question of whether or not there is rice. He’s just trying to locate it because obviously the rice is somewhere. It took me roughly 6 years of marriage to master that.

On the list of things you can’t have on the Whole30 are grains, legumes (a fancy word for beans), potatoes, dairy, peanuts and sugar. You’d be amazed what that eliminates from your life. Bread, beans, peanut butter, corn, alcohol, rice, pasta, french fries, baked potatoes and anything with sugar in it which is pretty much everything that tastes yummy and calls my name. No worries though. You get all the veggies you want until you're full. And doesn’t that make up for all the Kit Kat bars and bread you’ll be missing out on? Of course it does!

The gist is that you eat a protein the size of the palm of your hand (organic, grass fed, cage free, no chemicals kind), a fat equivalent to half an avocado and the rest of your plate is veggies and you eat until you’re full. That’s each meal. 3 meals a day. Even breakfast. That’s a hell of a lot of veggies.  Including having them at breakfast no less. I’m also supposed to have 1 serving of fruit per day but it’s not required and is actually optional. This female right here loves her some fruit. I normally eat way more fruit than veggies.  Ugh.

The beans and the bread will be the 2 hardest for me though. Not eating an entire bowl of grapes while watching crappy reality television won’t be fun either. Much like my Friday night margarita with dinner will be missed. But it's the bread and beans that are my soulmates.  Seriously. They were go to foods that left me feeling full on my health kick. Never underestimate the power of a food you like that leaves you feeling full. You go to that well over and over and over again to stay the course when the going gets rough.

So at first glance, Whole30 seemed completely out of the question for me. Just inconceivable. Then I finished reading all the books I had while we were traveling over New Years so then I downloaded the Kindle app for my phone. And then I decided to read something a little educational-ish on it since it felt strange reading on my phone and the words seemed so small and I just didn’t think I could get into a novel on it. Plus we were traveling and I was exhausted and preparing to get up the next morning at the crack of dawn to do more traveling and get more exhausted and knew with the traveling I’d be stopping and starting with the book a lot and in my head that works better for educational-ish type books.

Lately all my educational-ish reading has been running related. This female right here has been eating anything and everything the further I get in my marathon training. Seriously. Don’t plan to lose weight while marathon training. You will be a hungry wench and need to eat. Then I traveled and I’m physically incapable of not inhaling everything I see when I’m traveling. Two hours after we leave the house I convince myself I’m so exhausted from the stress of travel that I require a Dr. Pepper. My jeans are a little snugger to show for it, too. So my eating habits could use some work.

I figured I was overdue for some food related learning and dare I hope food related improvement. I was also due for doing something that felt hard and took me out of my comfort zone.  Whole30 popped into my head. My husband said he’d do it with me. I downloaded It Starts with Food.  And that was that.

For all I know the Italian Stallion probably thought it would take me 3 months to finish the book. Little did he know I’d finish it the next day.

And if you’re going to announce you’re starting Whole30, you should definitely compound your poor food choices by living it up.  So we did Cane's fried chicken strips for dinner with a vat of Dr. Pepper, donuts for breakfast the next morning and a Kit Kat while grocery shopping for your Whole30 supplies. King size Kit Kat I might add. Naturally. I could pretend I shared it with my daughter but I only gave her 1 bar. Nice.

So me and my Jelly Belly are ready for some changes to my eating habits is what I’m saying. It’s overdue. Dramatic and intimidating. But overdue and most likely helpful to my pants size.

Once my husband realized all the off limits foods, he tried backing out the night before we started. Some nonsense about needing carbs. I pretended we were running together and I was him ready to sprint off into the distance while I’m lagging behind panting and dying. Suck it up, buttercup.

I will seriously kill him if he quits and leaves me alone in the carb free hell.

Less than 8 hours after we started, I was ready to cut someone for some bread. A stranger preferably. But give it some time. I’m sure I’ll be ready to cut an acquaintance soon.

I had a headache by the end of day 1 and I really, really, really want to have a snack. But I’m concerned that’s because of the headache. Because it’s a scientifically proven fact that snacking makes 73% of my ailments better on any given day. But Whole30 says I shouldn’t need to snack between meals. This blows my “eating every 2 hours” mind. But I’m trying to follow the rules so I resisted with all my might.

Everything is hard when you first start. That's what I kept telling myself.  When I fall down the Dr. Pepper well and start drinking it consistently again, it always requires serious will power to quit again. Like headaches and thinking about it all the time hard. During the headache and jonesing for snacks and carbs yesterday, I tried hard to remind myself it will get easier. It has to. I just need to acclimate. Hopefully. Please say it will be so. Please.

I also didn’t do the world’s best job prepping to start yesterday. Nothing like having a super vague plan and not doing any food prepping for the week! But I did scrape together a shopping list. I also bookmarked some simple recipes. And then I went for a mega long run, was beyond exhausted and barely managed to convince myself to get up and go to the store an hour before bedtime. Genius. But I made it through Day 1.  So there's that.  29 days to go!

10 Things I've learned in the first 24 hours of Whole30:

1. I really like bread and there is such thing as bread withdrawal.

2. I was initially worried about giving up butter because this girl likes her some butter. Then I realized without bread, my need for butter significantly went down. It all comes back to the bread, baby.

3. My regular grocery store doesn’t stock all the fancy schmancy ingredients the Whole30 websites recommend and list in recipes.

4. The fancy schmancy ingredients the Whole30 websites recommend and uses in recipes are way more expensive than the cheap crap we normally buy. Sunday night, I paid $6.99 for a pound of grass fed no hormone beef. No really. $6.99. Holy crap that’s some gold plated meat. Then I headed over to the egg aisle and paid $2.99 for a dozen. And I bought 3 dozen and almost hurled. I also carried them to the car more protectively than any other grocery item I’ve ever bought. I also protected them from falling green bean cans on the way home as if they were 200 year old fine china. Because the only thing worse than paying $2.99 for a dozen eggs would be breaking them on the way home. Because then I really would have to hurl. I found the grocery shopping experience stressful. I don’t know that I’m built for that much stress in the Kroger egg aisle. I'm trying to comfort myself by thinking about all the money I'll be saving not buying pasta and rice except they are cheap as hell so it's not working.

5. It takes a long time to eat that much meat and veggies and each meal. I had the equivalent of a taco salad for lunch along with some green beans and my jaw was seriously getting tired of chewing all the lettuce. That’s after having three million raw carrots with my breakfast. My meals have gone from 10 minutes of actual eating to like 30 just based on the volume of veggies and all the chewing. That’s wacky.

6. Raw carrots with breakfast wasn’t half bad though. I ate them in the car on the way to work. They’re easy to eat one handed while driving and you do so much chewing it’s hard not to feel full when you’re done. Before that I also had eggs and force fed myself half an avocado in my continuing quest to convince myself I like them.

7. My husband is a magician with asparagus, a giant fry pan and some olive oil. Dinner was great. We also inhaled salmon and salad with the asparagus. So glad he’s in this with me because I’m above average inept in the kitchen.

8. Apparently I’m going to need to learn to like eating avocados. I’ve never been a big avocado girl but I’m supposed to have some fat at each meal and if one more website tells me to have ½ an avocado raw I’m going to scream. I successful got one down. I’m trying to remind myself about feeding babies new foods and how you have to introduce something a lot before they might decide they like it.

9. I don’t know how to successfully cut up an avocado without jacking it up. Gonna need to Google that. Will also be googling how to cook them in case I might like cooked avocado better.

10. My kids are convinced all the talk about healthy eating going on in our house will mean less Pop Tarts, Oreos and potato chips for them.  Poor things. They have no idea what they’re in for.

The Wagon Ran Me Over

I fell off the healthy eating bandwagon shortly before my cold weather camping excursion.

It started with this and that here and there. First it was getting carried away indulging on my long run days. Not anything super crazy but saying yes to multiple treats. Cheeseburger and fries for lunch. Giant vat of froyo after dinner. I'd run so long I burned a ridiculous number of calories so I'd earned it. I should have taken that as a sign. A sign that I was starting to let food creep in as a reward.   That's an old habit it took me a long time to break.

Then it became a slice of cake at work. Then a larger slice of cake at work the next time. Then my favorite Halloween candy.  Then my less favorite Halloween candy.  Then my least favorite Halloween candy.  Then a bottle of Dr. Pepper one day when I was tired. Then 9 double stuff Oreos just because. It started out as 4 and then the next time I went through the kitchen 3 more called to me and then the bag was almost empty so 2 more seemed like the right thing to do so I wouldn’t waste cabinet space on an all but empty bag.

 

And then we went camping and all bets were off.  Because I was tired. And when I’m tired, I have zero will to fight. Marshmallows. Corn Pops. Whataburger on the drive home there.  Whataburger on the drive home.  Oh, and the little matter of a 2 liter of Dr. Pepper I single handedly inhaled over 3 days.

After the camping trip, the wheels felt like they were already coming off the bus but I was still limping along.  But then there was the Taco Bell drive thru on the way to the grocery store. And a frozen margarita after the kids went to bed.  Two nights in a row.  I still fit in my size 6 jeans so it couldn't be as bad as I thought. 

And then I got sick and I felt tired and cruddy and I was officially off the wagon with wheel marks on my back where it ran me over and left me for dead.  I hit the Whataburger drive thru not one day but 2 days in a row.  Bacon taquito, hashbrown sticks and a large Dr.  Pepper.  My inner fat girl go to breakfast after dropping the kids off at school day after fat girl day.   I like my tortilla soft and my cheese melted.  Just sayin'.  Also, just sayin', I ate the hell out of it.  Also, just sayin', I was super frustrated with myself. 

I could feel myself slipping down the rabbit hole back into bad routines.  It was kinda scary.  And disappointing.  And then I reminded myself how far I've come.  That my least perfect days now are nothing compared to my best days last July at 204.4 pounds.   That I'm stronger than I thought.  That I can do hard things.  That messing up doesn't have to define me.

The Pinterest motivational quote that always speaks to me.  Fail enough and trying again can be scary.  Been there.  Still there. 

And then I decided to try again.    Just like that.  And I went to bed early, got a decent night's rest to set myself up for success and then I did.  Start again. 

Weighed in, before photos and then I went back to the things I knew worked for me.  Water, Pinterest motivational quotes and walking in the fresh air.  I'm 4 days in and remembering who I am.   I like that I recognize that person and missed her.  I'm only up a couple pounds and the size 6s still zip.  But I've got a Jelly Belly that's still in progress and I need to get back to it.  So I'm going to.  And it'll be hard.  And I might wind up in that Whataburger drive thru again.   But that's all part of earning my stripes.

Hooray for a new day!

Wondering

Since starting my health kick last July, I have always associated exercise with weight loss.  I'm not a girl that just thinks exercising is super fun.  I have always seen it as a means to an end.  Burning calories.

In the beginning, when I had lots of weight to lose, my goal was to burn as many calories as possible to help shed the weight.  Somewhere along the way, I've lost my way on that and I seem to associate it with being able to eat more.  Specifically, on days I exercise I consciously think about how many calories I burn and what I can eat with those calories.

Long run days are the best.  I've even caught myself thinking about what I can eat with all those long run calories while doing my long run.  This week was Froyo and movie theater popcorn.   And a soda.  And a cookie later.  And a bowl of Golden Grahams.  And some cheddar blasted Goldfish.  And a wine cooler.  And another wine cooler.  And three helpings of brisket at dinner.  They weren't huge helpings though.  Okay, so they weren't small either.  And some french fries.  And I also would have inhaled part of my son's milkshake if the guy at the burger place hadn't messed up our order but he did so he saved me from half a milkshake and I should be happy but I was mostly just disappointed.

So my eating is seriously off track.   And I'm a girl in need of a track.  And less calories.  And less thinking about calories.

My size 8 pants still fit so that's a win but the scale is up a couple pounds.  I'm still exercising despite the off track eating.  And I'm pretty sure the exercising is the only thing keeping me in the size 8 pants.

I keep trying to start anew and do better.  Some days I'm successful.  Some days I'm the girl going back for thirds. 

I have many theories for my off track eating.   My current theory depends on what day it is.

The first theory is that I've done some general purpose losing focus.  Always a possibility.  Not my favorite theory because it's so vague and hard to fix.

On Saturday, I was blaming my husband for the ridiculous number of treats in our house.  The fact that he doesn't shove them in my mouth did not deter me from blaming him.   From there I moved on to blaming crappy grapes.  In my professional grape tasting opinion, for the last 3 weeks the grapes at my grocery store have tasted pesticide-y no matter how many times I wash them.  Not cool and effectively eliminates grapes from my appetite suppressing arsenal.

Except fruit that tastes like pesticide! Because pesticide is a real taste buzz kill.

I'm also blaming my grocery store for a lack of peaches to choose from this week.  I may or may not currently be addicted to peaches and I may or may not have a 4 peach a day habit.  Doesn't make me a bad person.  But it does mean I need to buy a lot or I hit withdrawal.  I've been keeping almonds in my lunch bag at work but that mostly leads to the bag ending up as an all you can eat buffet on the way home.  A handful of nuts is a healthy snack.  12 handfuls of nuts is a healthy way to suck down a lot of calories and still feel hungry when you're done.  Genius.

Monday I was convinced I wasn't getting enough sleep and that being tired was making me weak minded and pathetic in the face of anything edible.   Naturally, I then woke up that night at 2:45 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep.  Perfect.   The buffet was open for business all day.   

Today's theory is that I've been running longer distances and need to eat more protein.  I read an article about what to eat when you're training for a marathon and it seems to think I need about 68 grams of protein a day.  Um.  Yeah.  Let's just say it's a good day if I get half that.  So I tried out egg whites for breakfast.  Thumbs up.  Although, there is the end of a box of Golden Grahams calling my name from the kitchen.  So who knows. 

I have a million other theories, too.  They like to pass briefly through my brain while I'm brushing my teeth or sitting in traffic.    

I've been wondering if I've grown complacent since losing 60 pounds. Like maybe I'm subconsciously deluded and think I've mastered eating healthy and don't need to work so hard at it.

I've been wondering if I'm in a rut and need to try some new foods.

I've been wondering if there are foods that might help me feel fuller longer.

I've been wondering if I need to exercise more.

I've been wondering if I need to give up carbs.

I've been wondering if I need to give up sugar.

I've been wondering if I'm just being lazy.

I've been wondering if it will take not fitting into the size 8 pants to scare me straight.

I've been wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

I've been wondering if I'm trying to sabotage myself.

I've been wondering if I'm going to gain the 60 pounds back.

I've been wondering where my determination is.

I've been wondering where my pride is.

Now if I could just stop wondering and start doing.

10 Things I Do to Stay Motivated

Last week I was struggling to stay focused on eating right and getting in plenty of exercise.   It occurred to me over the weekend that I'm a girl in need of motivation.  I've had it.  Back when I was losing 60 pounds, I clearly had it.  So I decided to remind myself of some of the things that did the trick for me then.  And then I'm going to commit them to memory and recite them to myself every hour on the hour until my will to fight the good fight is renewed.   

10 Things I did that helped me stay motivated on my weight loss journey: 
1. Spent more time taking in pride in how I looked.  In the very beginning, when my Jelly Belly was at its height and I was feeling pretty bad about myself, I dropped some cash on Amazon for some beauty products I wouldn’t normally try.  I got some fancy conditioner, some tinted lip balm, a Clarisonic Mia and a scrubber for my dry, scaly feet.  Then I consciously made an effort to use those things.  It may seem simple and stupid and like stuff other normal females do regularly.  I don’t even know how much they actually improved my appearance.  But I know they made me feel better about myself.  Maybe it was just devoting some time to doing something specifically for myself.  I’ve been known to overlook that.  I don’t know.  But when I look back now, I know it helped me build up the drive inside me when I needed it the most.

2. Surfing Pinterest and pinning motivational quotes about being tough, staying strong and being determined.    After putting my kids to bed while watching crappy reality television, when a little something something to snack on might have hit the spot, I'd pin away instead to distract myself and attempt to stay focused.  

3.  Setting smaller milestones along the way. I originally wrote out a list with a treat every 5 pounds. Some treats were something as simple as ordering something relatively inexpensive but frivolous.  Others didn't even cost anything.  The first one was painting my toe nails with some silly sparkly toe nail polish.  Next was trying some conditioner for my eyelashes as stupid as it sounds.  It was $10 and supposed to make my eyelashes thicker (I didn't notice a difference.).  Another was a cutesy striped tote bag from Scout.  Somewhere along the way I stopped caring about those goals and didn’t even notice them passing me by.  As an example, one of my treats 20 pounds ago was supposed to a super cute new hair cut at somewhere other than Super Cut and I've had shagadelic split ends up in a ponytail everyday since despite that.   But in the beginning, those goals meant a lot to me and I’d be looking forward to getting to the next one. 

4. On difficult days, I’d just focus on one day at a time.  I didn’t even focus on making that day perfect.  I just focused on making it through that day the best I could.  If I was starvin' Marvin, I didn’t focus on trying to eat perfect and suffer through being hungry.  Instead I’d focus on eating something that wasn’t bad.  So instead of eating Cheetos from the vending machine, I’d give myself permission to eat a million almonds until I wasn’t hungry anymore. 

5. Took before photos and then put them away and didn’t compare myself to them right away.  Because I looked heavy in the beginning.  Because I was heavy!  And looking at how heavy I was didn't motivate me in the beginning.  It depressed me.  So I just put them away.  I emailed them to myself and tucked the email away in a folder in my archives.  Then I deleted them off the camera and moved on.  I took progress photos every 15 pounds.  Every 5 was too much.  Every 10 pounds didn’t seem like quite enough.  And when I took the new progress photos, I gave myself permission to look at the original before photos.  Part of what I looked forward to after reaching a 15 pound milestone was taking new photos and putting them side by side with the before photo to see how far I’d come.


6.   Reading blogs of people that are making an effort to live healthier.  I like reading about things they’ve tried and challenges they’ve set for themselves.

7. Give in and buy a new pair of pants when you get small enough that the last size you own starts to fall off.   I can be hella cheap about clothes.  But I decided I deserved pants that fit.  And I deserved them today.  Not 6 months from now once I fit in a smaller size that I find more acceptable to spend money on.  Not 6 months from now when I’m “done” losing weight and can “invest” in clothes that fit without worrying I’ll have to buy a new wardrobe again in a few months.    A pair of jeans costs $25 at Old Navy.  You are worth $25.  Go buy at least one pair.  My favorite black slacks to wear to work are from Kohls for $25.  I am worth that extra $25, too.  And I say that having bought size 8s roughly 4 weeks after I finally bought my size 10s.  Oh, well.  It feels nice to try on a new size.  It’s fun to watch the pants slide on easily and zip.  It’s especially fun to wear them and have someone else notice you clearly gave in and bought some clothes that fit.  Because that person will then ask you how much weight you’ve lost.  And you will get to tell them and you will feel proud of yourself.  And that is awesome and will fuel the fire in your belly for a good week.   

Size 8!  That fit! While shopping for a dress for our 10 year anniversary.  The front didn't lay right on my chest so I didn't buy it.  But so fun to zip up.

8.  Following Tumblr feeds of people that post fitness and motivational stuff.  I have the app on my phone and when I'm sitting through one too many 4th grader volleyball practices I scroll around for a little boost of inspiration. 

9. Be patient.  I remember the first 15 pounds lost wasn't nearly as noticeable to me in photos.  And by that, I mean I couldn't see any difference.  I didn't let myself think about it and just stuck with focusing on one day at a time.  Big accomplishments are made up of tons of little efforts that build up to something big.  Stick with it.

10.   Looking for new goals to set for myself.  Even if I don’t necessarily succeed at them.  Although I’ve successfully run 2 half marathons, I also tried and failed at plenty of other goals.  For example, I’ve lost money on a Diet Bet and I quit the 30 Day Shred After 4 days.  I've also tried several apps on my phone for sit ups, push ups and squats hoping to work my way up to doing 100.  I lost interest around 60.  But that’s okay with me because I couldn’t do 60 when I started.  I like that my eyes are open and on the lookout for new things.  I like that when I spot one I’m willing to try it.  The old me wouldn’t have.  The new me does.   Regularly.

The Jelly Belly Wants What the Jelly Belly Wants

Since hitting my recent weight loss goal, I’ve been in a bit of slump.

Back when my husband was nomadic for 7 months, I kept telling myself how great it would be when my husband got back and that it would free up more of my time to exercise my life away.  Maybe not full on 5 am club Skinny Meg style freeing me up.  But I figured I'd at least feel less pulled in every direction.

Too bad that’s not what happened.  It’s been nice having my husband home.  Really nice.  Like above average cartwheels and rainbows nice.  There have been lovely dinners together at the kitchen table.  There have been bike rides and swimming.  There have been trips to the grocery store as a family to buy crap we don’t need.  And there has been lots of cramming ourselves in bed together to watch the Disney Channel until I want to gag. 

Why, yes, that is a grown man pushing a kiddie basket at the grocery store.  His daughter walked off with the full sized one.  What's a guy to do?

I like being there for that stuff.  That’s what I’m saying.  That it’s nice.  Really nice.  And fun.  And I missed that stuff while he was gone.  A lot.  Life is more fun as a foursome.  So I seem to struggle at heading downstairs to do my Wii like I would before he was nomadic.  I seem to struggle to head out the door at the crack of dawn instead of lounging around in pj’s with everyone else on Saturday.

But my husband also somehow convinced me that we were going to be workout buddies and he was going to run with me.  But he’s not a spring out of bed in the morning kind of guy.  So the springing has to come from me.  But I don’t want to spring without him because he says he wants to go and I want him to go if he wants to go but then sometimes he doesn’t seem to want to go but then sometimes I’m not sure if that’s just “slow to spring out of bed” slowness or “just go without me” slowness.  And “just go without me” slowness is really good at creeping over into “maybe I should just lay down and go back to sleep” laziness.  Because if I spend too much time thinking about whether or not I should go exercise, holy cow it’s easy to convince myself I don’t need to.

Sometimes my husband will tell me while tying his laces that he’s not running far that day even though I waited for him and even though he knows my goal on Tuesdays and Thursdays is going 3 miles.  It’s always 3 miles on those days.  That never varies.  Except for him.  Yesterday, we ran 1.9 miles.  Um.  Yeah, that’s better than when I couldn’t run anywhere last year.  But it’s not 3 miles. 

This girl doesn’t have blue steel biceps to burn a million calories all day for her.  She needs to work hard to burn them herself.  And this girl can’t just swing a 40 pound kettle bell around by one hand and call it a day.  Again, this girl needs little somethin' somethin' more. 

Other times we’ll be mid run and my husband will announce that we should just stop and do burpees instead of running the rest of the way.  Holy hell that man has drunk the burpee koolaid and loves him some burpees.   Too bad my ankles hate burpees with a passion.  Last time I did them, my ankles threatened to walk off the job if I didn’t cease and desist immediately.  This girl both ceased and desisted.  Because I like functioning ankles.     

So then I want to finish the planned run and he wants to burpee and I'm frustrated that my brain had set a course for running a certain distance but torn and he's frustrated I don't want to mix it up.  And I feel like a wet blanket on his spontaneity and unappreciative that he at least wants to do some exercise and I have no idea what else he thinks.  But there's a lot of frustration going on and frustration seems to be the only activity My Fitness Pal does not list as burning any calories. 

In my head, I know I should just run the 1.9 miles with him that he wants to run and then keep going by myself while he heads home.  But that's hard.  Because if he's stopping, my head thinks that's a really good reason to stop, too.  Sigh.

You might think having lost 60 pounds at least partially thanks to exercise would counteract the laziness.  You’d think it would have been a good learning lesson about how to fight the flab.  But I’ll have you know it’s also a good way to convince yourself you don’t need it as much.  Not so much because I think I’m ripped steel perfection now (I wish!) but that maybe I have less flab than I used to and need the exercise a little less.  Which is ridiculous because this chick needs exercise to fight the flab.  My jelly belly needs it.  My indestructible appetite needs it.  And my overall fitness and well being needs it.

Family bike rides after dinner are fun.  Even if you're like me bringing up the rear most days.

But I’ve been letting it get to me.  I’ve been wilting in the face of these distractions.  I’ve got to find my focus again.  I need goals and aspirations.  I need to remind myself that the jelly belly is in fact still jelly and still present and accounted for on my body.

On top of the lack of workout focus, there’s also been a fair amount of food traveling into my house and my general vicinity.  My husband made chocolate chip cookies last week.  I defy you to sit in a house with the smell of fresh from the oven cookie smell wafting around and not taste test at least one cookie.  Because if you can, your name must rhyme with Jillian Michaels and your soul must be made of coal.  Because this girl tasted a cookie and it was delish and those chocolate chips were a little gooey slice of heaven. 

We’ve also had barbecue pork ribs.  Brownie bites with icing.  Ice cream cones after dinner.  Donuts.  Donuts with icing.  Donuts with sprinkles.  Donut holes.  Bacon. More bacon.  And an extra side of bacon with the more bacon.  And one day my husband even made bacon at lunch to go in club sandwiches as if having it 2 days a week with breakfast isn’t enough.  Bacon is hella tasty and the permeating smell makes it extra hard to resist.  We’ve also eaten out several times and there were chips and salsa and margaritas and more chips and some cheesy dip and another margarita and guacamole and tater tots at Sonic and it goes on and on. 

It’s hard staring down yummy crap and not shoveling it in your mouth.  It’d be awesome if my husband could stop baking chocolate chip cookies.  That would also make me less likely to want to punch him in the nose for baking chocolate chip cookies.  But I do realize it’s my mouth and I control what goes into it.  I’m just saying I’m less likely to shove cookies in it if we don’t have fresh baked cookies in the house.  But I do realize he’s allowed to like cookies and not be required to go without them for the rest of his life just because my jelly belly wants to inhale them.   But I also realize its okay to request a little moderation in all the high calorie crap entering our universe.  But I also realize reducing my jelly belly is good for me.  But I also realize it’s my jelly belly not his.   But I also realize this paragraph could go on forever.   He’s a nice guy.  He likes cookies.  It’s not a crime.  It's my own dang fault not his.  There.  And what am I gonna do about it?

The madness must stop.   I must apply the brakes or this train is going to come off the tracks.  In fact, it already feels a little wobbly on the tracks inside my brain.   Must. Stay. Strong.  Train.  Must. Keep.  Going.