Recently my sweet little girl has had so much to talk about and often requires undivided attention with a few exceptions: when playing in the kitchen sink (the real one), watching Little Einstein's, or with friends. She lets me do domestic duties like cooking and cleaning--she actually seems quite fond of this. I am hoping she will grow up to be much like her tidy aunties on my husband's side, because she doesn't have a prayer from my blood-line.
Lately my daughter has been using some unique methods to get my attention. Just two days ago I was immersed in hand-stitching the collar of a little bear Cinderella dress (I know, a CINDERELLA costume for a BEAR! I will "Blag" all about it later--blog bragging) when suddenly--STAB. Ally took the pin I set aside to jab me in the knee and exclaimed, "POKE!" Poke indeed. And yesterday, with my back turned for a moment at Joann Fabrics, she picked up an unusually long, synthetic orchid and used it to fish down little pots. The problem: these pots were made of glass. "PLUNK, CRASH, SPLAT," I heard in rhythm twice, turned around and saw the blue and yellow remnants of the clearance items on the floor. "Ally, no-no," She looked at me, quite shocked at what she had accomplished (she was standing in the cart away from the shelf, so luckily the glass didn't hurt her) paused a moment, then reached the orchid up once again to smash a third glass pot--as if to say, "Take THAT."
She clearly is not as thrilled with my doll-clothing project as I am, and would much rather have me play with her NOW than spend time making clothes for little figures that she doesn't even own yet. So today I made a special effort to REALLY give her my undivided attention. This morning I completed the ENTIRE 20 minutes of Jillian Michaels 30-day shred for the FIRST time ever (before she woke); later we ate breakfast and played in the yard. In the afternoon, after my daughter didn't nap for a half-an-hour, I burst in her room and said, "Let's go to the mountain!" She was startled by my abrupt declaration and sheepishly holding her soggy diaper and pointing to a wet spot on the floor. "It's yellow pee-pee in there, you need to clean it up." That's my girl. So, I cleaned up the mess, got her dressed, and off we went. On Saturday, I discovered a nice mountain trail about .5 miles from our house. It is gravel and dirt, easy on the joints, and offers the quiet that can only be found in untouched nature.
As we winded around the dirty hills, she was absolutely silent. I could tell that she was enjoying the new scenery but mostly, she was simply glad to know that I was available. I pointed out butterflies, flowers, lizards, grass, birds--I even tried to catch a butterfly for her entertainment--perfect exercise and perfect fun. There are moments when everything stops and I am reminded that my first job is Mother. The little figurines will always be the same size, but my little girl is changing every day. The clothes will have to wait because I have more important things to do, like catch little creatures in the mountain with my daughter.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Tiny Distraction
As some of you know I have an insatiable obsession with miniature things. Perhaps it is because I wish my hips would make themselves a little more minute. When I combine my love for crafts and tiny things, I have the perfect recipe for avoiding any binge-eating disaster. Here is a picture of the quail egg that I gave to my mom for Easter. It stands about 3/4 inches. Sorry about the blurry image--in my dejunking I have misplaced my camera so I had to use my video camera and extract pictures from the moving image.
Now for my latest snacking-stopper: homemade clothes for my calico critters, AHH--way too cute and fun, I get all giddy just thinking about it. I opened a few of the critters in front of my daughter purposefully and she sat beside me (well actually scavenged through my craft goodies) while I worked on little outfits. I took the little figures and used them as models for creating patterns, and when I would set one down to grab material, she would snatch it like a hawk. "No no, mommy gets to keep these until you poop in the toilet," I said. Pooping has been a real struggle, and the makeup bribery simply didn't do the trick, but when I told her she could HAVE these animals once she pooped, she was suddenly very motivated. "And when I go poo-poo in the big-girl potty, I can have the baby kitty, Huh Mommy?" She said with bright eyes. I said yes. So here is what I have come up with so far: a ballerina princess outfit for the "child" kitty, and a dress for the "adult" bear. Again, sorry for the fuzzy images. I placed the spice container in the frame so you could see the scale. When I perfect my methods, I plan to sell the clothes on eBay. I also have a blue version of the ballerina princess. Who needs to diet when you can spend hours working on tiny little treasures. No thinking of food means no eating of food--perfect tiny distraction.
Now for my latest snacking-stopper: homemade clothes for my calico critters, AHH--way too cute and fun, I get all giddy just thinking about it. I opened a few of the critters in front of my daughter purposefully and she sat beside me (well actually scavenged through my craft goodies) while I worked on little outfits. I took the little figures and used them as models for creating patterns, and when I would set one down to grab material, she would snatch it like a hawk. "No no, mommy gets to keep these until you poop in the toilet," I said. Pooping has been a real struggle, and the makeup bribery simply didn't do the trick, but when I told her she could HAVE these animals once she pooped, she was suddenly very motivated. "And when I go poo-poo in the big-girl potty, I can have the baby kitty, Huh Mommy?" She said with bright eyes. I said yes. So here is what I have come up with so far: a ballerina princess outfit for the "child" kitty, and a dress for the "adult" bear. Again, sorry for the fuzzy images. I placed the spice container in the frame so you could see the scale. When I perfect my methods, I plan to sell the clothes on eBay. I also have a blue version of the ballerina princess. Who needs to diet when you can spend hours working on tiny little treasures. No thinking of food means no eating of food--perfect tiny distraction.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Rainbow Bright
This time of year always makes me a little blue because it marks the anniversary of my sister's passing due to Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Two days ago, on the same day she passed in 2000, I was driving and glaring into the remorseful, gray clouds wondering why this particular day always seems to have rain, every year, wherever I am, just as that day 10 years ago in Michigan when I lost my big sister. The sky cried right along with loved ones, and once again the clouds began to weep in California. As I continued in my reverie of painful thoughts, I said a silent prayer asking for something to remind me of happiness and gratitude. Within five minutes, while turning right on the main drag toward my house, in the middle of the muddiest cloud, sprang a beautiful, bright, rainbow. I laughed and said, "Thanks Julie."
This past weekend I found the perfect venue to honor my sister's memory while fulfilling my sometimes insatiable need to acquire things: A garage sale with proceeds donated to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Just like you must exercise away excess fat, it is important to exercise excess junk. So in order to "binge" at this yard sale I required myself to do a little junk "work out." I donated my items and the lady offered to give me the things I wanted to take home for free, but I said no; It didn't feel right to rob the items meant for cancer research.
I think women are particularly guilty of presenting status symbols to one another, to say, "I am worthwhile," or, "Because I have this THING, I am a cut above." And you thought high school was over. Of course there are the designer purses, big rocks cast in gold, clothing, but among new mothers it is all about the stroller. A high-end stroller for a young mom is the equivalent of a sparkling porche bought by a newly successful business man. Both say, "Look at me, I am doing my job, and very well." I admit, I HAD to have the high-end stroller when I was eight months pregnant, and thank you family for all chipping-in to buy it. But my homeless nurse attire while pushing the high-end baby buggy must keep onlookers guessing. "She probably stole it," or, "Oh wonderful, another vagabond using a baby stroller to cart her junk around."
Here is my point with all this: I bought several items at the garage sale that to me were symbols of being "A cut above." The first item was a Barbie Jeep Power Wheels--yes it goes, FAST (my daughter drove it like she was in a demolition derby, so we fastened her helmet), and a barely used Barbie Dream House. The Power Wheels are just pure fun, but the dream house, I donno, it's locked away in storage. I realized kids can be spoiled, even on second-hand items, and honestly, was I buying it for my daughter, or because I thought it would make me look like a cool mom? I'm not sure. There is nothing wrong with nice things, especially when they come at a good price, and when they are useful, like my stroller. I just think it is important to be mindful of where "Things" fit into priorities and sense of self. Just like food, if I am consuming goods to fill some void besides pure need, I really shouldn't be consuming them at all. But thank goodness for donation--I cannot have an over-stuffed house AND an overstuffed belly. Wouldn't it be great if there were a place for fat donation?--You acquire too much blubber-junk in your trunk and simply unload it? Don't ask about the medical details and mechanics of this fantasy, alright? The organizer guy on Oprah has a theory that clutter and weight are quite connected. He published a book called "Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Big?" He is a well-dressed Aussie with a quick wit and great clean up advice--I think I might read that book. Sorry my Australian readers (yes I see you, and thanks) I cannot think of the guy's name.
I have finally tackled my Jillian Michaels goal. I've done her 30-day shred three times now--only about 20 minutes, good enough. But I had to mute the sound yesterday. My aching body and her "Get it done" tone were grinding on my nerves. Have you ever noticed that she scowls with her lips open when she is working out--like she is saying, "Look at me, I'm HARD CORE." She is great, I'm just bitter, cause she's in shape, and I'm not, YET. The running/walking is going well, and happening daily--I'm running .5 miles now every other day. OH! And today I wore jeans for the first time in two years. They were digging into my gut, but with the right shirt I have to say I looked "A cut above." The digging was also a good reminder not to overeat.
Thank you for your comments, please, please keep them coming. I know it's been a few days since I've posted, so I thought I'd make up for it by ranting just a little longer than usual. I'm going to keep chugging away remembering that just as rainbows emerge from the darkest clouds, success springs from difficulty. And through the toughness I can be something better.
This past weekend I found the perfect venue to honor my sister's memory while fulfilling my sometimes insatiable need to acquire things: A garage sale with proceeds donated to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Just like you must exercise away excess fat, it is important to exercise excess junk. So in order to "binge" at this yard sale I required myself to do a little junk "work out." I donated my items and the lady offered to give me the things I wanted to take home for free, but I said no; It didn't feel right to rob the items meant for cancer research.
I think women are particularly guilty of presenting status symbols to one another, to say, "I am worthwhile," or, "Because I have this THING, I am a cut above." And you thought high school was over. Of course there are the designer purses, big rocks cast in gold, clothing, but among new mothers it is all about the stroller. A high-end stroller for a young mom is the equivalent of a sparkling porche bought by a newly successful business man. Both say, "Look at me, I am doing my job, and very well." I admit, I HAD to have the high-end stroller when I was eight months pregnant, and thank you family for all chipping-in to buy it. But my homeless nurse attire while pushing the high-end baby buggy must keep onlookers guessing. "She probably stole it," or, "Oh wonderful, another vagabond using a baby stroller to cart her junk around."
Here is my point with all this: I bought several items at the garage sale that to me were symbols of being "A cut above." The first item was a Barbie Jeep Power Wheels--yes it goes, FAST (my daughter drove it like she was in a demolition derby, so we fastened her helmet), and a barely used Barbie Dream House. The Power Wheels are just pure fun, but the dream house, I donno, it's locked away in storage. I realized kids can be spoiled, even on second-hand items, and honestly, was I buying it for my daughter, or because I thought it would make me look like a cool mom? I'm not sure. There is nothing wrong with nice things, especially when they come at a good price, and when they are useful, like my stroller. I just think it is important to be mindful of where "Things" fit into priorities and sense of self. Just like food, if I am consuming goods to fill some void besides pure need, I really shouldn't be consuming them at all. But thank goodness for donation--I cannot have an over-stuffed house AND an overstuffed belly. Wouldn't it be great if there were a place for fat donation?--You acquire too much blubber-junk in your trunk and simply unload it? Don't ask about the medical details and mechanics of this fantasy, alright? The organizer guy on Oprah has a theory that clutter and weight are quite connected. He published a book called "Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Big?" He is a well-dressed Aussie with a quick wit and great clean up advice--I think I might read that book. Sorry my Australian readers (yes I see you, and thanks) I cannot think of the guy's name.
I have finally tackled my Jillian Michaels goal. I've done her 30-day shred three times now--only about 20 minutes, good enough. But I had to mute the sound yesterday. My aching body and her "Get it done" tone were grinding on my nerves. Have you ever noticed that she scowls with her lips open when she is working out--like she is saying, "Look at me, I'm HARD CORE." She is great, I'm just bitter, cause she's in shape, and I'm not, YET. The running/walking is going well, and happening daily--I'm running .5 miles now every other day. OH! And today I wore jeans for the first time in two years. They were digging into my gut, but with the right shirt I have to say I looked "A cut above." The digging was also a good reminder not to overeat.
Thank you for your comments, please, please keep them coming. I know it's been a few days since I've posted, so I thought I'd make up for it by ranting just a little longer than usual. I'm going to keep chugging away remembering that just as rainbows emerge from the darkest clouds, success springs from difficulty. And through the toughness I can be something better.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Mind Trickery
I've been trying to cut back, just a tiny bit, but I do what every other committed food-junkie would do: replace one bad habit with another. Shopping!! Shopping is wondrous because if I over-haul, I can take the junk back the next day. It is not entirely intentional, it just sort of happens--the buy-it-then-return-it cycle. I buy something I believe I MUST have to move forward in life, then I get the "stomach ache," typical buyer's remorse. It's not so big a problem as food and sedentary life-style. If shopping made me gain weight I would be a good-looking, plus-size model (a comfortable size 12): heavy, but nothing outrageous. Unfortunately with food there is no receipt. "Taking it back" is called bulimia.
I've found a couple things that make me feel like I have indulged when I really haven't. The first is Salt N' Vinegar kettle chips. When I crave salt, I can't go to any regular potato chip--the bag would be mostly empty in just 10 minutes time. Instead I eat Salt N' Vinegar Kettle Brand chips. They are so potent that my tongue can only handle about 5 or 6 chips while still fulfilling my salt craving. The next is Ben and Jerry's--so, so naughty (Yes pumpkin queen, I'm talking to you). I am a little bit lactose intolerant, so I can only eat a few bites of ice cream before my body says, "No more." Oh! You must try the 3 oz. container. It comes with a little spoon; perfect for cheating on-the-go. But, as I said in my last post, there are some treats that are simply off-limits. It's just a matter of coming to terms with those limits. What if I had a little burial for all of my naughty treats? That might be funny, but honestly, I'd be grave-robbing within a few hours.
Luckily I have recently discovered a little mind-trick for the shopaholic in me: Craig's List. While it is wildly popular, I just made my first purchase--a whole garbage bag of girl clothes for $15! There were more than 30 items inside, and sorting through them was like Christmas morning. I am going to wash them in hot, hot water, maybe twice. My sister-in-law tells a horrific second-hand story of buying a fur coat that caused a lice epidemic in her dormitory, YIKES.
I need to find a trick for one particular spending obsession: Calico Critters--overpriced little animal figurines with tiny clothes and accessories, way too cute for any self-control. I love toys and having a daughter is the perfect excuse to buy too many of them. I decided to set aside a little money to buy critters for potty training motivation. I've only purchased two little animals, but I've been simply obsessed with them. They are my spending version of the powdered doughnut. When I am kicked out of my apartment and swimming in animal figurines, I'll know that it is time to go on a crash toy diet.
I've found a couple things that make me feel like I have indulged when I really haven't. The first is Salt N' Vinegar kettle chips. When I crave salt, I can't go to any regular potato chip--the bag would be mostly empty in just 10 minutes time. Instead I eat Salt N' Vinegar Kettle Brand chips. They are so potent that my tongue can only handle about 5 or 6 chips while still fulfilling my salt craving. The next is Ben and Jerry's--so, so naughty (Yes pumpkin queen, I'm talking to you). I am a little bit lactose intolerant, so I can only eat a few bites of ice cream before my body says, "No more." Oh! You must try the 3 oz. container. It comes with a little spoon; perfect for cheating on-the-go. But, as I said in my last post, there are some treats that are simply off-limits. It's just a matter of coming to terms with those limits. What if I had a little burial for all of my naughty treats? That might be funny, but honestly, I'd be grave-robbing within a few hours.
Luckily I have recently discovered a little mind-trick for the shopaholic in me: Craig's List. While it is wildly popular, I just made my first purchase--a whole garbage bag of girl clothes for $15! There were more than 30 items inside, and sorting through them was like Christmas morning. I am going to wash them in hot, hot water, maybe twice. My sister-in-law tells a horrific second-hand story of buying a fur coat that caused a lice epidemic in her dormitory, YIKES.
I need to find a trick for one particular spending obsession: Calico Critters--overpriced little animal figurines with tiny clothes and accessories, way too cute for any self-control. I love toys and having a daughter is the perfect excuse to buy too many of them. I decided to set aside a little money to buy critters for potty training motivation. I've only purchased two little animals, but I've been simply obsessed with them. They are my spending version of the powdered doughnut. When I am kicked out of my apartment and swimming in animal figurines, I'll know that it is time to go on a crash toy diet.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Portion Perfect
I didn't run today OR do Jillian Michals, but I DID get my heart pumping. Tomorrow I will run for sure, but Jillian, no promises. Commitment to her DVD feels a little bit like cliff-diving. I know it will be great when I finally jump off--but that is the key: jumping off.
My school of thought for dieting says "Eat a treat, but only once a day, and just a tiny bit." The daily indulgence has been a few squares of chocolate--that is until Easter came around. Did you know you can get sick of chocolate? Just try eating a bite of Cadbury Egg every day from Valentine's to Easter--you will understand. Now my wicked wonder is powdered doughnuts. Here's my dilemma: I have no control around powdered doughnuts. "Just eat two, then close the box." No dice. Then I said, "If I buy the 6-peice package, cheating would only cost me four more doughnuts instead of a baker's dozen." The marketing people at Hostess know exactly what they are doing. They do not make the skinny cellophane to keep the doughnuts fresh for the next day. The snowy dumplings are meant to be devoured!! And it is no coincidence that the pack of six is much fluffier and expensive than the box. Bottom line: this fat brat cannot eat powdered doughnuts—at least not more than maybe once a week. Unfortunately for me, and the Hostess stock-holders, the perfect portion doughnut would only be a little larger than a dime. Not quite enough to make cheating worth it. But be sure that my dreams will be full of doughnut clouds and powdered sugar thunderstorms—pure Heaven.
My school of thought for dieting says "Eat a treat, but only once a day, and just a tiny bit." The daily indulgence has been a few squares of chocolate--that is until Easter came around. Did you know you can get sick of chocolate? Just try eating a bite of Cadbury Egg every day from Valentine's to Easter--you will understand. Now my wicked wonder is powdered doughnuts. Here's my dilemma: I have no control around powdered doughnuts. "Just eat two, then close the box." No dice. Then I said, "If I buy the 6-peice package, cheating would only cost me four more doughnuts instead of a baker's dozen." The marketing people at Hostess know exactly what they are doing. They do not make the skinny cellophane to keep the doughnuts fresh for the next day. The snowy dumplings are meant to be devoured!! And it is no coincidence that the pack of six is much fluffier and expensive than the box. Bottom line: this fat brat cannot eat powdered doughnuts—at least not more than maybe once a week. Unfortunately for me, and the Hostess stock-holders, the perfect portion doughnut would only be a little larger than a dime. Not quite enough to make cheating worth it. But be sure that my dreams will be full of doughnut clouds and powdered sugar thunderstorms—pure Heaven.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Spank You Very Much
If you have lost a nice chunk of weight--especially after having a child--you know all about the SKIN issues. Let's be completely honest with one another: having a baby is ugly business--at least for the epidermis. If you feel like you know me a little bit, you understand that I am not one for excessive vanity. I did not have a baby because I thought it would make me look cute, but common ladies!! At least warn a girl about the skin expansion! It's like time-lapse photography of continental drift from space. Or images of the melting ice-caps from a computer-generated global warming video. My skin is slowly eaten away by the polluted fat until I am one, big, blue, stretch-mark ball.
Despite the apparent bitterness, I am starting to forgive all of the skinny people I used to hate--as if they personally attacked my blood-relatives--(skinny brats, Marathon Barbie, and other epithets). But I will not EVER, never, forgive the people who say, "Oh, um, I don't know if I'm just different, but I didn't get ANY stretch marks when I was pregnant/gained weight/growing up." That is just plain mean! It feels like someone who says, "I have never liked fried food," or, "I wish I could eat more, but I'm just always so, like, full."
Even though I have lost quite a few inches and pounds, I have not lost the SKIN. The bulk is replaced by misplaced flaps and odd-looking rolls. A couple days ago I was drooling over a SPANKS catalogue--you know reasonable-sized celebrities aren't just magically flat under their clothes, they wear SPANKS. I really, really wanted to order a few things just to smooth out my silhouette. They were too pricey for my current situation, so I went to ROSS and found the comparable "Shapewear." I got a nice black pair of biker-short things that pulled all the way to my bra. They were size large, but they looked like they could fit my daughter's baby doll. It's amazing how they can make fabric quadruple in size. If only my skin was made the same way--what a mean trick. I was nervous about feeling like I couldn't breathe--but they were very reasonable. Have you ever heard the stories of nineteenth-century ladies fainting in church from their restrictive whale-bone corsets? The underwear people have advanced a lot since then, luckily for me. It worked out nicely and gave me smooth lines to wear a fitted, flattering dress. Just the perfect little accent to a shrinking waist-line.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Cloud Three
So, do you like when I respond directly to your comments? Does it make you want to comment more? I hope so; this would be so much more difficult without all of the support. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
When thinking about how to describe my new-shoe experience, the first thing that came to mind was "Cloud Nine." But then I realized, not only is it cliché; to be honest, I don't even know what it means. If something fantastic is cloud nine, what is something that is cloud 1 through 8? I suppose because humans are historically fascinated with flight and defying gravity, we use expressions of different degrees of weightlessness to describe our experience and mood. When content, you "walk with your head high," when thrilled you "walk on air," and when ecstatic you "walk on Cloud Nine." I'd say it was much better than simply a high head and better than walking on air, but not quite cloud nine. I was on a perfect Cloud Three.
"You should never have to 'break in' shoes," the man clarified yesterday. "If they don't feel comfortable the moment you begin your run, they are not the right shoes." I really didn't believe him at the time. Never in my life have I been able to simply "Go" without some discomfort--that was different today. It felt like I was bouncing on bubble wrap while keeping the air capsules in-tact (Don't you just love bubble wrap? Even as a grown person I can't pass up an opportunity to stomp on a fresh piece; the sound is just so satisfying) When I finished my run (at half-way point in my 5K walk), my knee did not hurt! My run was about a quarter mile; that’s just perfect for now. The shoes felt like like my feet got a flattering new bra: sensible and supportive.
I am not going to get too excited--I don't want my self-confidence all wrapped up in running--if it continues to work, fantastic, if not, that's ok too. Either way I am committed to staying active. Taking the man's advice, I talked and sang during my run to make sure my heart-rate was in the zone. The technique also helped me speed up when I began slacking my power-walk. I'm sure I looked a little like the haggard crazies who lament to the oxygen.
Here is my plan to keep things slow and steady: I will run every other day in the middle of my walk, and on the walk-only days I will face Jillian and her 30-Day Shred. Each week I will add about .1 miles--nice and steady. That means by the time I reach my 10K, I will be able to run about 1.3 miles. Perfect!
When thinking about how to describe my new-shoe experience, the first thing that came to mind was "Cloud Nine." But then I realized, not only is it cliché; to be honest, I don't even know what it means. If something fantastic is cloud nine, what is something that is cloud 1 through 8? I suppose because humans are historically fascinated with flight and defying gravity, we use expressions of different degrees of weightlessness to describe our experience and mood. When content, you "walk with your head high," when thrilled you "walk on air," and when ecstatic you "walk on Cloud Nine." I'd say it was much better than simply a high head and better than walking on air, but not quite cloud nine. I was on a perfect Cloud Three.
"You should never have to 'break in' shoes," the man clarified yesterday. "If they don't feel comfortable the moment you begin your run, they are not the right shoes." I really didn't believe him at the time. Never in my life have I been able to simply "Go" without some discomfort--that was different today. It felt like I was bouncing on bubble wrap while keeping the air capsules in-tact (Don't you just love bubble wrap? Even as a grown person I can't pass up an opportunity to stomp on a fresh piece; the sound is just so satisfying) When I finished my run (at half-way point in my 5K walk), my knee did not hurt! My run was about a quarter mile; that’s just perfect for now. The shoes felt like like my feet got a flattering new bra: sensible and supportive.
I am not going to get too excited--I don't want my self-confidence all wrapped up in running--if it continues to work, fantastic, if not, that's ok too. Either way I am committed to staying active. Taking the man's advice, I talked and sang during my run to make sure my heart-rate was in the zone. The technique also helped me speed up when I began slacking my power-walk. I'm sure I looked a little like the haggard crazies who lament to the oxygen.
Here is my plan to keep things slow and steady: I will run every other day in the middle of my walk, and on the walk-only days I will face Jillian and her 30-Day Shred. Each week I will add about .1 miles--nice and steady. That means by the time I reach my 10K, I will be able to run about 1.3 miles. Perfect!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Second Chance
Before I begin I must admit to something terrible--I have participated in what I call "Insider blogging." Blog comments are meant to be left out of a person's own free will and not motivated by inside information. But I have compelled some people to leave comments on my blog. You see, sometimes I get scared when there is nothing said. It feels like readers are literally saying "Whoa, um, no comment!" (Smirk, eye roll) So, in the past, I have begged a family member or close friend to write a comment to get the discussion going--or just to have something THERE to help me feel less, um, NAKED. I am not a complete fraud, however, I have only compelled about 5 or so comments, but I thought I should be honest. And here is my commitment to you: I will respond each time there are comments--in the comment section, starting with "Costco Coutor." I have struggled with this because I thought people would think I'm weird for commenting on my own comments. Then I realized that many of you comment to get a response, and I shall give them to you, just check back once in a while. And please COMMENT, I'm begging you!! Even if you don't like me, comment, please--any attention is good attention (hahha, joking). Whew, I feel so much LIGHTER now that I have repented. Oh, one more thing. I know my posts have been scarce as of late, and suddenly I can't stop talking. It is a simple case of writers block--sometimes you have something to say, and sometimes you just don't. I cannot commit to any post quota because forced writing sounds very mechanical and robotic--I want to be as fresh as possible. Thank you for riding on my roller coaster--fun isn't it?
Ok, now for my second chance--I am going to start running again. I took a big hit to the ego when I had to stop a few months ago, but I am proud for continuing to exercise despite my sense of loss--the old me would just give up and say, "I guess I'm just going to be fat now." My knee is finally healed so I thought I would rip it up again and run a 10K. Just kidding, not about the 10K, but about ripping up my knee. This time must be different, SOO, instead of getting quickie cheap shoes at Kohl's --I went to a running store. I told the man (complete with black track suit and a mid-western air of discontent) all about my plight, even brought in my old shoes, and he was extremely helpful. He had a very familiar accent and personality. I asked him if he was from the mid-west, "Yes, I'm from ChiCAAAAAGo." I responded, "Oh I knew it!" jumping a little, "I'm from Detroit." He glared at me with the wonderful attitude that only people "Back east" have--but I think my enthusiasm was disarming. Midwestern and Eastern folks get a bad rap for being gloomy and short-tempered, but I don't think that's fair. I think people east of Kentucky are generally more guarded and it comes across as snobbish--they would call all the bubbles in California "fake." Plus, here we are spoiled with abundant mood-lifting sunshine. I tried about 10 different pairs (running and walking in each--forgot the sports bra, YIKES, after I type I'm gonna go ice the welts on my chin) My little girl was with me of course and she followed right along. She removed her Dora shoes and dug through the sock bin. She chased after me in men's socks, that looked like trampled bunny ears swinging from her feet, and said "Time to race together," each time I tried on a new pair. A half-an-hour into the fitting, I smelled a familiar waft. It was impossible to ignore in the tiny store so I decided just to make it public "Oh you need a diaper change, don't you!?" The man looked away, uncomfortable, and I asked (already knowing the answer,) "Do you have children?" No he did not. But it was better than pretending nothing happened--like the mystery fart at tea which twists the faces of all the gentlefolk. He found me the right pair about two minutes after that, quite luckily for him.
He and the other lady (with butt-length hair painted in gray--she was holding a flyer about a clothing-optional run, hahaha) gave me plenty of good advice. The main thing was: SLOW DOWN. I probably injured myself last time by increasing distance too quickly, going too long, and too fast. No more than a 10% increase in distance per week--a good rule of thumb. So to answer your question, I will probably not be RUNNING the 10K the whole way, it is in June, and I am not going to tear open my limbs to get there, but I want to participate anyway. It is a nice little challenge to put on the horizon. I told him I was running for weight-loss and he said that if I could not talk and run at the same time, I was going too fast. I should be able to do labored speaking or singing while in a good cardio heart range. If I start running and begin to lose my breath, "Stop and walk," he said. Woo hoo, no more beating myself up for stopping and walking!! He said it was important to change things up--create muscle confusion--it keeps the body out of stasis and in fat-burning mode. Which reminds me, I need to dust off that Jillian Michaels DVD. I haven't touched it for a month, she scared me away (sorry Cathy). But I can do it; I must do it. Monday, I will start on Monday and report back.
The shoes took quite a bite out of my spending money, but it's worth it. They have a great return/damage policy and gave me tons of info. Also, I realized I am a 10 1/2, not a 10, and my left foot should be in an 11, HAHA. No wonder I got blisters last time. Life lesson: find out what fits, not what looks like a sexy number (that includes bra size, no matter how scary). The shoes are a brand I have never heard of, "Saucony." Sounds trendy and expensive, don't you think? Aren't I popular now? My plan right now is to continue to walk my 3 miles, but run 3-4 blocks in-between, then I will add a block every other day. "Slow and steady wins the race." I am so happy and feel a new wind of excitement for the journey ahead, YAY!
Ok, now for my second chance--I am going to start running again. I took a big hit to the ego when I had to stop a few months ago, but I am proud for continuing to exercise despite my sense of loss--the old me would just give up and say, "I guess I'm just going to be fat now." My knee is finally healed so I thought I would rip it up again and run a 10K. Just kidding, not about the 10K, but about ripping up my knee. This time must be different, SOO, instead of getting quickie cheap shoes at Kohl's --I went to a running store. I told the man (complete with black track suit and a mid-western air of discontent) all about my plight, even brought in my old shoes, and he was extremely helpful. He had a very familiar accent and personality. I asked him if he was from the mid-west, "Yes, I'm from ChiCAAAAAGo." I responded, "Oh I knew it!" jumping a little, "I'm from Detroit." He glared at me with the wonderful attitude that only people "Back east" have--but I think my enthusiasm was disarming. Midwestern and Eastern folks get a bad rap for being gloomy and short-tempered, but I don't think that's fair. I think people east of Kentucky are generally more guarded and it comes across as snobbish--they would call all the bubbles in California "fake." Plus, here we are spoiled with abundant mood-lifting sunshine. I tried about 10 different pairs (running and walking in each--forgot the sports bra, YIKES, after I type I'm gonna go ice the welts on my chin) My little girl was with me of course and she followed right along. She removed her Dora shoes and dug through the sock bin. She chased after me in men's socks, that looked like trampled bunny ears swinging from her feet, and said "Time to race together," each time I tried on a new pair. A half-an-hour into the fitting, I smelled a familiar waft. It was impossible to ignore in the tiny store so I decided just to make it public "Oh you need a diaper change, don't you!?" The man looked away, uncomfortable, and I asked (already knowing the answer,) "Do you have children?" No he did not. But it was better than pretending nothing happened--like the mystery fart at tea which twists the faces of all the gentlefolk. He found me the right pair about two minutes after that, quite luckily for him.
He and the other lady (with butt-length hair painted in gray--she was holding a flyer about a clothing-optional run, hahaha) gave me plenty of good advice. The main thing was: SLOW DOWN. I probably injured myself last time by increasing distance too quickly, going too long, and too fast. No more than a 10% increase in distance per week--a good rule of thumb. So to answer your question, I will probably not be RUNNING the 10K the whole way, it is in June, and I am not going to tear open my limbs to get there, but I want to participate anyway. It is a nice little challenge to put on the horizon. I told him I was running for weight-loss and he said that if I could not talk and run at the same time, I was going too fast. I should be able to do labored speaking or singing while in a good cardio heart range. If I start running and begin to lose my breath, "Stop and walk," he said. Woo hoo, no more beating myself up for stopping and walking!! He said it was important to change things up--create muscle confusion--it keeps the body out of stasis and in fat-burning mode. Which reminds me, I need to dust off that Jillian Michaels DVD. I haven't touched it for a month, she scared me away (sorry Cathy). But I can do it; I must do it. Monday, I will start on Monday and report back.
The shoes took quite a bite out of my spending money, but it's worth it. They have a great return/damage policy and gave me tons of info. Also, I realized I am a 10 1/2, not a 10, and my left foot should be in an 11, HAHA. No wonder I got blisters last time. Life lesson: find out what fits, not what looks like a sexy number (that includes bra size, no matter how scary). The shoes are a brand I have never heard of, "Saucony." Sounds trendy and expensive, don't you think? Aren't I popular now? My plan right now is to continue to walk my 3 miles, but run 3-4 blocks in-between, then I will add a block every other day. "Slow and steady wins the race." I am so happy and feel a new wind of excitement for the journey ahead, YAY!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Costco Coutour
As part of my goal to rid my wardrobe of tent-structures, I treated myself to a little shopping at Costco. I really like buying clothes there because I can take them HOME to try on and not have to worry about a 50-page return policy, the clothes are well-made, brand-names at reasonable prices (it's amazing how my Wal Mart clothes shred themselves to pieces), and most of the items feature a classic look instead of being overly trendy--I don't have money to buy new clothes each season. I picked a pair of jeans size 14--I haven't been able to pull size 14 over my hips in over two years--the audacity of hope. And two others, size 16, which I knew would fit comfortably. A few tops sprinkled on top and I was ready to go. This is the best part--each pair of pants had a zipper, and, can you imagine...Buttons!! Another little scapegoat I have used these past two years is the elastic waist--but I have come to the sobering conclusion that elastic wastes are for geriatric patients and pregnant women. Oh hum. I ran inside with my pile of clothes and FIRST tried on the size fourteen pair--and guess what? THEY FIT OVER MY HIPS. Don't get too excited though; my saggy hip flab spilled over generously into a king size muffin top (see above). And to button them would mean the end of my poor tailbone; and way too tight in all the wrong places--that wouldn't be fair to the innocent children. But I was happy nonetheless. I ended with just two shirts and said "No way" to the tent ones, and "Bye bye" to the buttons and zippers. I am not ready to be THAT uncomfortable yet. I have been spoiled. After my next 15 pounds I will make a point of buying myself a FLATTERING pair of real pants, something to work toward. But for now, I will watch my daughter devour that naughty Costco-dog while I dream of skinnier times and sip an ice cold diet coke. Ahhh
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Fat Debate
One correction--the show I talked about in my last post is actually called, "The Price of Beauty." And I lied. I want to be thin, now! Just like all you other little brats. I'm sick of suffocating in my own skin.
I had the chance to watch a Dr. Phil episode which featured two sides of what he called "The Fat Debate." One side featured three ladies all 300+ who were on the "Fat" side, and the lightweights, including Jillian Michaels, on the side of "Thin." So what is the debate--you are either fat or thin, right? Wrong! The big girls argued that there is too much prejudice against fat people, in fact, one lady is the chairwoman of an organization called "Promoting Fat Awareness," something like that. They said the thin folks (on the other side of the argument) had no right to assume fat people were lazy, unhealthy, or disgusting--fat has much more to do with genetics than people will admit. You can imagine what the skinny side had to say. The bald man, personal trainer like Jillian, sported a muscle Tee that said "No Chubbies." The Fatties went crazy over that one. He has a very unique training method--He takes his victims into the torture chamber--weight room--has them do all sorts of crazy contortions, and if they slack off he throws JUNK FOOD AT THEM. Sign me up!! "Hey fatty, you gettin' tired huh, huh!!? Fine! Then just eat more crap, here take this--Hi-YA, and THAT--HEEYAA," and I open my mouth to catch the flying Twinkies--perfect!! This guy argued that fat people make themselves that way and deserve no sympathy from him or the rest of society. If you have to buy two airplane tickets, fine-- your fault for being fat, he argued. He also said that the big girls didn't do themselves any good playing the victim card.
While I understand where the big girls are coming from, I don't think it is ever healthy to play the victim card. Disclaimer!!! I am not talking about people with severe mental, emotional, or medical disabilities. More people with the attitude, "I am this way because of a, b, or c, NOT because of anything I can control." One thing that really helped me lose was being honest with myself. Sort of being my own drill-sergeant. "Hey you! You ate and sat your way into this, so you must walk, run, or jog your way out." It was kind of liberating actually--to realize that I had control over my future. Part of me wanted to say "This is how I am, take me or leave me" and ignore my weight issues. But when I first started seeing results I realized that I have the power to become something better and stronger. In this way, I think that being "Fat" is more of a mental block people put on themselves than a real physical problem that keeps them from losing weight. I had to get over the mental hurdles of changing. I wasn't supposed to go to the gym--fat people don't go to the gym. I wasn't supposed to eat healthy, I am a pig. I can't wear anything but baggy clothes--I am ugly. Just a few of the jumps I had to overcome in the beginning.
This debate had too much talk about dieting and less about lifestyle. I have never in my life successfully completed a diet and maintained the weight loss. So I sat down with myself and said, "I am going to lose weight for real this time, so no dieting." Instead I made a few CONSISTANT changes in my life that I knew I could handle. I cannot quit eating sweats, so I still eat them. I would have a mental breakdown without bread, so it is still in my diet. But I exercise 6 days a week, no questions asked--something I have never been able to do until now. I felt like the big girls just accepted their "Fatness" after failing years of diets. I wish I could shake them and say, "You can lose weight without dieting!" Small changes, a little at a time, lead to better habits, better habits lead to better choices, better choices lead to weight loss--and it doesn't happen overnight.
Lastly, I don't think it is ever appropriate to treat someone with disrespect. Part of being a mature, well-adjusted human being is learning to live respectfully with people who are different--even, FAT! Don't judge a book by its cover. "That's just something fat people say." Hahaha, but really if an adult is making fun of another person because of their size, he or she needs a wake-up call, not the fatty. I know I make fun of myself all the time, but that works for me, it helps me laugh off the outside pressures and just continue on course. But I will never in my life, ever, make comments about another fat person again. It is a very lonely, difficult place to be, and meanness never helps anything. So what do you guys think? Do fat people deserve their plight? Is there too much prejudice against large people? Tell me everything, and again, thanks, without this blog I would be 20 pounds heavier loathing is self pity.
I had the chance to watch a Dr. Phil episode which featured two sides of what he called "The Fat Debate." One side featured three ladies all 300+ who were on the "Fat" side, and the lightweights, including Jillian Michaels, on the side of "Thin." So what is the debate--you are either fat or thin, right? Wrong! The big girls argued that there is too much prejudice against fat people, in fact, one lady is the chairwoman of an organization called "Promoting Fat Awareness," something like that. They said the thin folks (on the other side of the argument) had no right to assume fat people were lazy, unhealthy, or disgusting--fat has much more to do with genetics than people will admit. You can imagine what the skinny side had to say. The bald man, personal trainer like Jillian, sported a muscle Tee that said "No Chubbies." The Fatties went crazy over that one. He has a very unique training method--He takes his victims into the torture chamber--weight room--has them do all sorts of crazy contortions, and if they slack off he throws JUNK FOOD AT THEM. Sign me up!! "Hey fatty, you gettin' tired huh, huh!!? Fine! Then just eat more crap, here take this--Hi-YA, and THAT--HEEYAA," and I open my mouth to catch the flying Twinkies--perfect!! This guy argued that fat people make themselves that way and deserve no sympathy from him or the rest of society. If you have to buy two airplane tickets, fine-- your fault for being fat, he argued. He also said that the big girls didn't do themselves any good playing the victim card.
While I understand where the big girls are coming from, I don't think it is ever healthy to play the victim card. Disclaimer!!! I am not talking about people with severe mental, emotional, or medical disabilities. More people with the attitude, "I am this way because of a, b, or c, NOT because of anything I can control." One thing that really helped me lose was being honest with myself. Sort of being my own drill-sergeant. "Hey you! You ate and sat your way into this, so you must walk, run, or jog your way out." It was kind of liberating actually--to realize that I had control over my future. Part of me wanted to say "This is how I am, take me or leave me" and ignore my weight issues. But when I first started seeing results I realized that I have the power to become something better and stronger. In this way, I think that being "Fat" is more of a mental block people put on themselves than a real physical problem that keeps them from losing weight. I had to get over the mental hurdles of changing. I wasn't supposed to go to the gym--fat people don't go to the gym. I wasn't supposed to eat healthy, I am a pig. I can't wear anything but baggy clothes--I am ugly. Just a few of the jumps I had to overcome in the beginning.
This debate had too much talk about dieting and less about lifestyle. I have never in my life successfully completed a diet and maintained the weight loss. So I sat down with myself and said, "I am going to lose weight for real this time, so no dieting." Instead I made a few CONSISTANT changes in my life that I knew I could handle. I cannot quit eating sweats, so I still eat them. I would have a mental breakdown without bread, so it is still in my diet. But I exercise 6 days a week, no questions asked--something I have never been able to do until now. I felt like the big girls just accepted their "Fatness" after failing years of diets. I wish I could shake them and say, "You can lose weight without dieting!" Small changes, a little at a time, lead to better habits, better habits lead to better choices, better choices lead to weight loss--and it doesn't happen overnight.
Lastly, I don't think it is ever appropriate to treat someone with disrespect. Part of being a mature, well-adjusted human being is learning to live respectfully with people who are different--even, FAT! Don't judge a book by its cover. "That's just something fat people say." Hahaha, but really if an adult is making fun of another person because of their size, he or she needs a wake-up call, not the fatty. I know I make fun of myself all the time, but that works for me, it helps me laugh off the outside pressures and just continue on course. But I will never in my life, ever, make comments about another fat person again. It is a very lonely, difficult place to be, and meanness never helps anything. So what do you guys think? Do fat people deserve their plight? Is there too much prejudice against large people? Tell me everything, and again, thanks, without this blog I would be 20 pounds heavier loathing is self pity.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
My own little fattening hut
I am really into this new show called, "Real Beauty" on VH1. Jessica Simpson (I know, I know) goes around the world to see how other cultures define beauty. The last episode featured a new bride in Uganda, Africa. The young women was draped in beautiful silks and surrounded by loved ones in her bridal party--only female of course, until after the ceremony. She was giddy and enthusiastic about her new life, AND, wait for it--80 pounds heavier than two months previous. Her mother and aunt explained the ritual of the "Fattening Hut." Symbols of status among men include owning large herds of cows and having a large, fleshy, fat wife (more than one if you could afford it), "You want your wife to look like the cows," said one young man. So, this blushing bride had spent 60 days in a clay hut doing absolutely nothing but drink jug after jug of fresh, herb laced, cow's milk while her mother messaged her expanding flesh with oil. They showed the empty jugs at about 1:00 p.m., and she had already consumed what looked like a gallon and a half of pure, creamy, milk! Can you imagine!? Eighty pounds in two months!! To prepare for her wedding day! The first thing I thought was, "What about the stretch marks!!??" I can't even conjure in my mind how whipped up her skin must be. An interviewer asked a group of men, "But how fat is TOO fat?" And one man responded, "If she cannot walk easily, the wife is too fat." HA! I am living in the wrong country! My poor husband, his status shrinking each week.
I have spent the last few days in my own little fattening hut. On Friday, I treated myself to Delhi Palace, an all-you-can-eat Indian lunch. I used to go there almost every week, but since my weight loss journey began, I changed it to once every financial quarter. I GORGED on curry paneer, chicken tika masala (cream base), fresh bread (Nan), and deep fried veggie samosas, SOOO good. When I came home I was a little sad to find that my new bra had a large, light green stain splashed on it--in my crazed eating I spilled the mint chutney on my shirt and I guess it leaked through. On Saturday, I picked up four dozen white rolls, a three-tier carrot cake, and an apple pie (sugar free, like that even counts now) in support of a church bake sale. We ate two-dozen rolls by day's end, and the pie was half devoured. Then Easter Sunday--three buttered rolls for breakfast, potatoes, steak, noodle salad, fresh-squeezed lemonade, a lime and condensed milk drink, chocolate, LOTS of chocolate, and finally a HUGE piece of carrot cake, and plenty of rolls for dinner. By Monday afternoon I was feeling like a lost sinner, so I took the entire cake, and the remaining rolls and dumped them in the trash. Now that I have a few pounds off my body, I actually APRECIATE the feeling of eating healthily--so it was time to say bye-bye to endless carbs, but what FUN!
I know people love to hate Jessica Simpson, but I really think her show is a noble attempt to reveal human nature. No matter where we come from, there are pressures on women to take extreme measures to conform to society's rules about beauty--weather they say you must be fair, or dark, fat, or thin--they are all the same: man-made. We rarely look at the worth of a soul before we judge the outer shell. So instead of becoming something I am not, I am at peace with one goal: being healthy. True health, I believe, is true beauty.
I have spent the last few days in my own little fattening hut. On Friday, I treated myself to Delhi Palace, an all-you-can-eat Indian lunch. I used to go there almost every week, but since my weight loss journey began, I changed it to once every financial quarter. I GORGED on curry paneer, chicken tika masala (cream base), fresh bread (Nan), and deep fried veggie samosas, SOOO good. When I came home I was a little sad to find that my new bra had a large, light green stain splashed on it--in my crazed eating I spilled the mint chutney on my shirt and I guess it leaked through. On Saturday, I picked up four dozen white rolls, a three-tier carrot cake, and an apple pie (sugar free, like that even counts now) in support of a church bake sale. We ate two-dozen rolls by day's end, and the pie was half devoured. Then Easter Sunday--three buttered rolls for breakfast, potatoes, steak, noodle salad, fresh-squeezed lemonade, a lime and condensed milk drink, chocolate, LOTS of chocolate, and finally a HUGE piece of carrot cake, and plenty of rolls for dinner. By Monday afternoon I was feeling like a lost sinner, so I took the entire cake, and the remaining rolls and dumped them in the trash. Now that I have a few pounds off my body, I actually APRECIATE the feeling of eating healthily--so it was time to say bye-bye to endless carbs, but what FUN!
I know people love to hate Jessica Simpson, but I really think her show is a noble attempt to reveal human nature. No matter where we come from, there are pressures on women to take extreme measures to conform to society's rules about beauty--weather they say you must be fair, or dark, fat, or thin--they are all the same: man-made. We rarely look at the worth of a soul before we judge the outer shell. So instead of becoming something I am not, I am at peace with one goal: being healthy. True health, I believe, is true beauty.
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