"Snapped" out of it

I realize that my last post was awfully grouchy, but I am being honest about my ups and downs. There, no more apologies for my mood swings, you get it don't you? So yesterday after I came home from the library to post the toilet entry, I was thinking about my sisters and how they are all beautiful, skinny, and do everything right. I drew this picture called "The Fatly Duckling" to illustrate my plight.

I am one of nine sisters: Emily, Cheryl, Mary, Alison, Suzanne, Rebecca, Cathy, Julie: just two years older than me, but sadly we lost her to Hodgkin's Lymphoma 10 years ago. And me: Christina-Bina: there I am as the "The Fatly Duckling," Julie is the angel ducky. I realized each of my sisters have unique personalities, unique difficulties, and they have all struggled to lose weight at one time or another. But I think the drawing is still pretty funny.
Last night as I was dancing in the back yard to the music of my own pity-party I started to think: "What would Julie say to me right now?" And it came to me, instantly. She would say the same thing she said to me 10 years ago when I chose not to continue Cross Country after my knee injury, "Don't be such a baby, you can do it." Then I sighed, sat on the hammock swing and continued to self-loath. Back and forth, back and forth, "This is just so hard, and I gained three pounds, AGGHh, What if I REALLY get injured and can't continue at all? Maybe I'm just not meant to be thin," I teetered On and on: in the spiral of self-doubt, then SNAP, KERPLUNK!! In an instant I was laying on concrete with a web of hammock smeared around me, it broke, I fell. At first I was stunned. I looked at the dusk-stained clouds with my mouth agape. "Am I ok?" Then, I burst into unbelievable laughter. It was quite a site--a Disney exhausted mom lying on a dirty back porch cackling, like an evil witch, with child patting hair gently. It was too funny: I broke the hammock swing just as I was beating apart my insides about gaining a little weight. I HAD to laugh. And let's look on the bright side, I could have broken my back in the fall: not so for this fatty. I took the time to look at my left butt-cheek in the mirror. That fat blob absorbed most of the fall--it looked like someone branded me with a Belgian waffle iron. Needless to say I DID run this morning, the whole way, and FAST. Nothing snaps a girl back into weight-loss motivation like breaking a swing. When I have a second I will post the picture I took right after the fall, yes, it really happened.

With a head in the toilet

My internet is broken again, and has been for three days. I meant to take down that horrible picture of me crying sooner, but was not willing to drag my toddler around town to do it. Enough is enough. I don't want the ugly cry to scare anyone away from my blog and lose hope in my future. I now have the memories of that wonderful surprise and no longer need to look at my double-chin and slippery mascara. "Don't be so hard on yourself, ok!?" Just trying to keep everyone honest, especially yours- truly.

Speaking of honesty, my knee started aching again. So I took a short jog-stroll on Tuesday, did not run on Wednesday and today walked around Disneyland for exercise. My knee is feeling better-- I think it was a healthy holiday. But I gained three pounds--perhaps a regular up-and-down anomaly. It still hurts, deep down, right "here" (pointing to my heart, in soap-opera fashion). I am not changing my stats. I don't want to give non-READERS the pleasure of knowing that little detail simply in passing. Pride is hard work, you see. I will be on the road again tomorrow to run my 5K, and there is another official 5K on March 13th. I am not off the wagon; just had to skip off for a pee-break. " FLUSSSHH. "

"So what is it with the toilet picture?" I found my toddler in this state the other evening and had to capture the moment. She has been very creative and obstinate about her toilet-tutelage. I know, I know, every kid goes through it. I have enough crap lodged in my fingernails to understand it takes time, so spare me the lecture. "Why the sour tone?" Well, fat and fecal-matter will do that to a lady. Moving along...I saw this picture and thought, "Wow, that is ME!" You see, for a long time I was trying to "poop-away" my weight problems by sticking my head in the toilet. It took me a while to realize that I was upside-down, giving myself a whirly, and making a serious mess of the ceiling. Again you say "What is she talking about?" The metaphor is a stretch, but I was completely "upside-down" in my weight-loss ideology. I thought , "A little fast food won't hurt," and "The baby-weight comes off naturally," I was completely wrong. It takes hard, sweaty, daily work, and it does not happen over-night. It was like saying to myself, "Yeah, it's easy, go to the bathroom with your head in the toilet." It didn't make sense, and the wrongful thinking made a big mess of things. I am right-side up now, but dealing with the damp, stinky, hair; and just trying to PUSH, I know, gross. Thank you for your support, especially with the 5K, now wish me luck again, and (do I dare?) pull my finger.

A grand surprise

 My in-law family decided to surprise me with a congratulations party yesterday. I was more than surprised, I was floored, ecstatic, humbled, grateful, more words than I can conjure. "All of this for finishing a 5K?" Then it dawned on me: they care, very much, they really see how hard I have been working, and then I cried. So here is a public thank you for that most unexpected, most gratifying display of support. I felt so much love that my heart wanted to explode. For a few moments I was a champion! It was honestly one of the happiest moments of my life; I felt like Miss America, but better, and THicker! Thank you Mom A., from the bottom of my heart.

And number 10 does it again

This morning I completed "The Riverside Raincross 5K/Run/Walk at Historic Fairmount park!" Yes, that is the official title of the race. It only took me 36 minutes (The winner was a lanky black man with a time in the twelve's, Yeesh). But I met my goal, I did not stop, except for two seconds to tie my shoe laces flinging this way and that--doesn't count--safety first. As part of my commitment to live a healthier lifestyle, I have also committed to being less frumpy in my daily dress. But not today. Despite my husband's pleading, I wore the long-sleeved, speckled gray, loose-fitting, and tight-fitting (In all the wrong places), FRUMPY race T-shirt glittered with ugly sponsor logos. I earned it and am currently wearing it as I type with the pride and poise of a perfectly-primped prom queen (Consonance much?). Here are the highlights of my morning:

I dragged toddler and husband out of bed at 6:50 into a packed car, drove to the race and received the number 10 at the registration booth to pin on my chest. (On a side note, I got myself a new shirt for the event. An Addidas breathable, long-sleeve, baby blue athletic top--perfect for the current temperature, and the price was right, thanks Costco) The number 10: my favorite number as a kid, my "lucky" number, the number on my jersey in Middle-School travel basketball, and finally, the number of years since I have participated in an official 5K run. Good feelings from the universe.

The seasoned runners where crowded right behind the start line, underneath an arbor of blue and white balloons. They wore their body-glove, sponsored outfits that would make me feel more naked than being naked. And many of them were practicing starts, and sprinting from the line. "Sprinting? This race is 3.2 miles folks!" But I guess you would have to sprint to finish that beast in 12 minutes. The true athletes didn't bother me, I was more in awe of them. I pinned on my number and ran to the middle crowd of runners then "BLEEEEMP," off went the blow-horn, and it began, with a police man on motorcycle leading the way.

I think my cheeks flew forward, like on a rollercoaster, with heavy wind of passing runners. "Slow and steady, Slow and steady," I kept coaching myself. I didn't really feel competitive until I saw a slow runner in Night-club makeup, and a BUMP-IT half-ponytail laced with well-crafted braids, and she was skinny. "No way, sorry, 'bump it' bimbo, not today, not this time, I've worked too hard for this." And I cruised passed her. By about .5 miles, I was with a steady pack of joggers, ebbing and flowing back and forth--then came the creepy speed walkers, have you ever seen a true speed-walker? These guys scampered past me in their eerie hippity-hop gait. It is a very odd sight: it looks like they raise one hip, let the joint dislocate, pop it back in, then do the same thing on the other side. But those weird dudes were FAST! Oh by the way, I did NOT wear my headphones, I felt like I needed to have all my senses with me, take in every second, count on MYSELF to get through it instead of Cold Play and Celin Dion, not so for many of my pack mates. I'm glad I didn't wear them, "I EXPERIENCED more," (in the voice of a avant-garde modern dance instructor).


Just after the "1 MILE" sign, I saw movement to the left, about 40-50 feet, UP . "Oh no," I said out loud. There was a hill, a big one, just a few hundred yards away. "Stupid hill!" I spat. Then I slowed down, just a tad, to mentally prepare for the climb. The pack ran past me, but I trotted on, toward the hill, at the bottom of which my pack-mates stopped to WALK. "NO, don't do this to me, I need you guys!" I ran up that hill. It went on forever. Everything in my blood, brains, legs, and thoughts told me to stop and just walk like the other people, and I almost did. I looked up to summon my angels and continued on. Reaching the top of that hill was one of the most triumphant feelings of my life, but there was still half a race to run.

The trail flattened out and curved around the hill, until it didn't, up I went, again. I felt like the Flabby Engine that Could, but midway up, the clouds and trees parted to poor blinding sunshine on my face, it looked like the bright light people describe in near-death experiences. "Yes take me, take me now," I thought, squinting into the yellow laser beams. It was not my time, darn it. The second mile was fairly easy until the end, just .2 miles from the finish line, where I met another hill. This one was short, but steep. "I think I can, I think I can, can I?" My body was shaky when suddenly I heard the sweetest voices in the whole world from below, my husband and daughter cheering me on, chanting, "Yay mommy, go mommy!" If I had anything left in me I would have burst into tears. Two ladies next to me looked down and one said, "Aww now that is something to look forward to down there, what a sweet little thing!"


I was going to pass my half-hearted pack at the finish line. They were all chatty and nonchalant the whole time--I wanted this so much more than they did. So I let gravity pull me down the hill where I saw my family, lengthening my stride with the momentum, a swift turn to the right--there it was, the finish line flags. I sprinted the last 200 meters, it was like someone gave me a shot of adrenaline. I easily passed my crowd, and heard someone on the sidelines shout, "Wow, she is really haulin' a*%! Yes, I was haulin' that, and the rest of me too. I was so happy to be done, but mostly proud of what I had accomplished. A few months ago I was a couch potato hoping to be thin, and today I was a runner, Number 10, and I cannot wait until I do it all over again.

P.S. thanks for your support, pictures to come

D-day

My daily runs have been exercise. I haven't really considered them "Training." But as I sit here a day and change away from my first weight-loss mile stone, the 5K, I am jittery as a jumping bean. Let's be honest, I am not going to WIN, but something about a REAL race with a REAL number pinned on my shirt seems so scary. I imagine the seasoned runners zooming past me while I do my best to just keep on going. I am trying to meditate and imagine the run, the people passing, the heavy breath in my lungs, my tired body, and a mind that says, "Just keep going, don't worry about them." It's like what some people do who prepare for natural child-birth, it's going to hurt, but it's coming. I don't really have a time goal in mind at this point, my goal is to finish, without stopping, without walking, run the whole way, even if I am dead-last. I have done this before, ten years ago--Cross Country in High School, which was cut short by a very convenient injury. At the course for my first 5K in the cool autumn air of Michigan, I stretched, practiced strides, did high knee-ups in place, and slurped a packet of "Energy" goo that looked like Swamp-Monster snot. Then BAM--the race started, and I started--way too fast. The adrenaline of the moment pushed me to run with the lead group; that lasted about two minutes. I felt fire in my chest, and I couldn't go on, so I stopped, bent over to gulp air into my hungry lungs. Then I walked, then trotted, then walked again, until I felt the energy to jog the rest of the course, which I later found out I cut out an entire .5 miles, woops. So much for energy goo. This time I know I am going to feel the adrenaline of the moment, but I am going to keep a slow, steady pace so I can win in my own way--finish without stopping.

Pluck when small

Apologies: my internet has been on and off and I haven't been able to do my daily posts. I know how badly you have needed me, and missed me, so please accept my sincere regrets for withholding this most important piece of your life--my details of of poop, fat, and underwear fit. Moving on...I wrote this last night on Word, now the internet decided to turn on...so here it is

Southern California has received an unusual period of heavy rain; which would be a mere sprinkle in Hometown Michigan, but the varied climates react differently to mother nature—it’s just funny to see how people here run from rain like it is fire. Thankfully we did not have to deal with mud slides or flooding, but something else managed to creep up from the myriad of gopher hills in my front and back yard: weeds--weeds that looked like small trees. They were growing at the speed of a plant aspiring to reach that special cloud where the giant lives. But we don’t need another giant around here, so I thought it was time to start hacking at the eager vegetation. Although, if the ledged holds true, that giant enjoys eating human flesh, so maybe I should have let at least one weed reach the sky and ask the giant if he would kindly gnaw off my saddle bags. Maybe next rainstorm. As I was yanking, hacking, and cutting (with hand clippers and a spoon-like shovel) at the stubborn weeds, I thought, “This would have been much easier had I plucked the little devils while they were small.” Then it dawned on me what the phrase “Letting yourself go,” means. At some point I just let the weight “go” and take over a well manicured lawn—my healthy not-overweight body. So now I feel like I am hacking away at a jungle of blubber and stretch marks with a mere pocket knife. I got myself into this, so I will get myself out—even if it is a millimeter at a time, I will chip away piece by piece. But when another challenge comes my way, which it will, I won’t wait until the problem is so big that addressing it makes me want to run under the covers and hide, which I dream of doing every morning before I exercise. As I slowly pick away the “weeds,” I am learning the life skill of maintenance; keeping things manageable, and plucking problems when small.  (applicable paint-picture coming soon)

Reason Enough

Excuses have been plaguing me this week. There have been many. "I can't run today because my knee is starting to hurt." Or, "There is a big blister growing on my right foot, I don't want to irritate it more, cause what if it gets really big, then I won't be able to run tomorrow, and what if it gets infected, what if, what if, what if!" I do need to be careful about my knee, but I also need to be careful about being careful about my knee, let me explain: If I let one little fiber of doubt wind itself around my will to be fit, then another fiber will easily wind around that one, until I am a big fat bug stuck in a web of self-doubt ready to be eaten slowly by a lanky spider--a snotty marathoner, with a Paris Hilton laugh. "What is she talking about!!?" I am talking about not letting little setbacks get me away from my goal of losing weight and being healthy. Also, the food this week, THE FOOD, oh where do I start. We celebrated Valentine's day at Macaroni Grill, and I ate EVERYTHING: the bread, the dipping oil, the fatty-shmaty pasta, and the crown jewel, pictured above: the drenched cake with chocolate genache, caramel, whipping cream, and a garnish if mint leaves--I hope to someday be greeted with this dish at the gates of heaven. Then the chocolates. My husband got me a box of my favorite gourmet chocolates, not Russell Stover! "Who do you think I am, achhh!" (valley girl voice). So when do I turn the naughty-food switch off? There are so many reasons to eat poorly, and as you can see from my thought bubble, I think of the lamest. But there are also many more IMPORTANT reasons to eat healthy, and my health is reason enough.

Fat Dividends

I finally treated myself to something with the moo-cow bank money (money I WOULD have spent on fast food, but did not, see post "My weight in money." I counted all my pennies and the money from the ads and I had just enough to get myself a MINO HD FLIP video camera! I felt a little guilty mostly because I was amazed at how much money I had in the Cow bank--that would have been banked on my butt in the form of French fries. All those dollar bills piled on the floor helped me actually see with my eyes how much junk I was eating. And guess what--I am not craving fast food anymore! Excuse me while I pat myself on the back thrice.....Ah very nice. I must tell you of some other dividends from my self-imposed Fat Camp. First, my husband has been noticing the weight coming off and telling me (in a very positive way, or else, grrr) that I look thinner. Second, maybe too much info for the faint-of-heart, but I am not spilling out of my bra anymore--no one likes the quadruple-boob look. Third, this morning as I was running I had to PULL my pants UP because they are getting too big, YAY-- pretty soon I will be wearing clothes without an "X" on the tag! And finally, I Feel GOOD, although I do hit a major energy wall at about 10:00 a.m., I feel like the molecules in my blood are more charged or vital in some way. But don't be hasty--I will still be complaining and whining from time to time, only human here. It's working, I'm changing, and I am so happy!

Signs

I must give credit where credit is due: my husband is the reason I wake up every morning--I don't mean in a cheesy way, I mean LITTERALY, I don't get out of bed unless he pulls the covers off of me, pulls on my leg, or flips on the cell phone ring-tone that sounds like an alarm from a nuclear meltdown. I really don't know if I could do it without this, well, loving inspiration. Now don't you feel all warm inside? Good. So I have three signs I want to talk about, the first is not literal, it is more the spiritual sense of the word. At the beginning and end of my 5K I run past rod-iron gates with about ten little angels kneeling on the posts. I like to pass by and give them imaginary high-fives, because I know there are REAL angels helping me out during this very difficult process. The little figures come at just the right moments. At the beginning of my run when I say "I really don't feel like doing this." And at the end when I say, "When will this end!" A great reminder and a nice "sign" that says, "Don't give up, there are a lot of people rooting for you." The second sign I saw today was on the way home from Costco. There was a frail man on the corner of an intersection with faded navy jeans, a grayish-black sweatshirt donning a random logo--stuff that you would get from a shelter or clothing drive. His face was scruffy with hints of gray, and his hair was puffing awkwardly out of a too-large ball cap. His sign said "Homeless, Hungry Vet. Please Help. God Bless." I usually pass by these folks because many of them are addicts, but the haunting look of his sunken cheeks and sad eyes made me stop. At Costco I bought my daughter a pizza slice, and I ate half of it. I didn't need to, but I bought myself a salad, with chicken, dressing, tomatoes, fork, croutons, all packaged nicely in a to-go container to eat later. I opened the window just a few inches and placed the salad in the man's weathered hands, and the look of gratitude on his face almost made me cry. "Wow, thank you," He said. Then he crossed the street to find a grassy place to eat his meal. Now the third sign, shown below, is from my imagination. I thought "Hmm, what would I write on a beggar's sign on the side of the street? Clearly I am not thin, or in need, but I do have food cravings." So I came up with this. Please enjoy cause this picture took me way too long, but I hope it makes you laugh.

Runnin' and Rainin'

After carb-loading for two days on a whole box of "Caramel Delights," (they will always be Samoas in my head) and five of the peanut butter ones, I decided I needed to kick my butt this morning. I have a confession to make: I did not exercise yesterday--the first day since January 29th. So after the carb-loading and SELF-loathing I gave myself a good Smack! Smack! "Snap out of it," I said to myself, literally, in the mirror. (I talk to myself a lot, don't turn me in to the white-outfit people, they will throw me in a padded room) "You can do this, you can even go farther this time," this part was just talk in my head, still crazy? Even though it was raining, I hopped out the door with my black sweatshirt tugged securely around my face and I just kept "Runin', an, Runin', an Runin'" (Forest Gump). It was actually really nice. A large portion of my run is under a perfectly-pruned canopy of trees. The wind was whisking the raindrops from the leaves onto my face--like I was sticking my head in one of those grocery store veggie misters. When the canopy was far behind, it began to poor big alligator-tear pellets on my face, shoes, everything, but I kept a' goin'. Another life lesson from running: "Sometimes it is going to rain, and rain hard, but you have to keep going or you will never reach your goal." Ahhh, don't cliché's make you feel all cozy inside? I ran almost four miles today, a record! I walked in the door dripping and I told my husband how far I went and he said, "Are you sure you didn't SWIM four miles?" Hardy har har, love a good dumb joke. So should I eat another box of cookies before my next big run? Probably not, but a girl can dream, can't she?

Dangerous Streets

I have been very safe running my 5Ks and even walking throughout my town; until now. There are dealers on every corner, and they could thwart my entire plan to be healthy. I am not fooled by their cutsie green outfits and sometimes braided hair; they use their smiles to lure me in, until I am hooked and my bank account is empty. I'm talking about the most sinister gangsters: Girl Scouts of America. The boxes they present outside grocery stores, and even at my favorite orange stand look harmless, even delightful. But when they are opened, my soul is lost to caramel, coconut flakes, chocolate, mint, peanut butter, short bread--the works. I can handle my fresh-baked chocolate chunks any day, but Girl Scout cookie season, the agony! I bought two boxes, "I'll just eat one, it will be my treat." Didn't happen. I tried to "Just say no" time and time again, but they kept beckoning me, and I fell into the snare. So I guess I am kicked out of sugar-rehab until those boxes are in the trash. I have no control over those over-priced delectables, they control me! So, I decided I cannot buy any more. But the little green devils will still be there, watching and waiting...

A few solutions

The pecans in my yard have been tempting me, as mentioned in an earlier post. But a few angels crossed my path to rid me of the naughty nuts. I was walking back from the laundry coin-op and saw an Asian couple picking pecans off the road. "Are you picking pecans?" They shook their heads and said "No the English." I tried to explain that I had lots of pecans in my yard and they could have them--talking really loud (in English) and using obnoxious hand gestures as if my mannerisms would make them magically understand. So I tugged on their bag of pecans and motioned them to follow me; they understood this part. As they bantered back and forth behind me, I picked up a few words here and there: they were speaking Chinese (Thank you two years of High School mandarin class). I foolishly said the one thing that I knew how to say, "I am American," then went on (with my huge, improvised sign language) to say that I could write better than I could speak. They looked at me like I was a purple-people-eater just landed from the moon, so I waved my hand in the air to say "Oh, never mind." I could tell they appreciated my effort. It wasn't enough; I was going to communicate with these folks! So in a move that says Mary all over it (my dear mom), I called my brother in Florida, fluent in Chinese, and asked him to tell the couple they can have as much as they want and to come back whenever. "Um, ok," he said, but kindly obliged. I handed the phone to the jovial lady and said "Ge Ge," (Big brother in Chinese). Suddenly her face lit up and she went on and on in her fast tounge. My brother said she expressed her thanks and that we were welcome to come visit her in Beijing any time. I later reiterated the story to my husband, he laughed, and said, "That is exactly something your mom would do." A sound compliment. Now my other solution: getting my daughter to poop. I bought this makeup kit, she is obsessed with makeup, it cost me only 3.70 from the Rite Aid Christmas clearance rack. I said "If you make poo-poo, you can do Mommy's makeup!" I opened the case and showed her the prize, she gasped, and said "Whooaa." She has yet to fall for my scheme; we have not caught a single little nugget. Now I need to figure out how to change my training for the 5K that surprised me with the description "Slight incline," so I made the picture in the post below to help visualize the finish, and the victory: finishing. Also, here is the makeup kit.

The End in Mind

Negativity and Poop

I have been feeling really grouchy, and it may have shown in my posts. I think I have figured out why. This last week I have actually obstained from naughty foods like cakes, sugar soda-pop, and white bread (except on Sunday, Sunday is my free-for-all--I do feel sluggish on Mondays though, a good learning tool I think). I read an article on CNN about obesity. It said that people who often binge on sweets (ME) and then quit suddenly, can have some of the same chemical reactions as a person withdrawing from street drugs--so here in sugar rehab I sometimes feel like pulling out my hair. I have not quit completely, that would mean sure failure, and the Cadbury eggs would be mysteriously absent from every store within a 5-mile radios. SO, I had a heart-to-heart with my brain and stomach and together we made a compromise. I can have one treat a day, no more than about 3oz, but a treat none-the-less. The allowance gives my head an exact number to expect, and my stomach a little something special to look forward to, emphasis on the word "Little." Also I know there has been a lot of potty humor lately; you see, poop and pee is constantly on my mind, and now, on my floor. I am potty-training my little girl. I finally buckled down and started. I have this weird relationship with pee because it took me a LONG time to figure it out as a kid--the reason some of my siblings called me "Peter," pronounced "PEEEEter." But I don't want my daughter to be a teenager wearing depends, so we're doing it. Also, I am silly, kind of like a 11-year-old boy; potty humor makes me laugh. Sorry if it insults your sensibilities, but it's not over. Anyhoo, I ran another 5K this morning, and for a little while I forgot about bodily functions and sugar-highs. Go me!

A thousand words