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!

Costco Coutour

Since my little darling was born, I boxed up all of my clothes (size 6 and 8) and marked them "CLOTHES THAT DON'T FIT ME YET." Sadly, they are still rotting in storage--it's ok. Right after she was born I wore T-shirts, scrubs, and pajama pants. About 8 months later I realized my body was not bouncing back on its own so I splurged on a few nice looking BIG MAMA clothes. Here is the mistake I made: I bought sizes that were HUGE on me--like XXXL. I tried to hide behind tent-like structures until the magical day when size 6 would come calling. Let me tell you something from personal experience---DON'T BUY TENT CLOTHES!! Although they may be comfortable and breezy, they only add inches to your silhouette. I am much bigger than before giving birth, but I still have a waist, and Big Mama clothes don't accentuate natural curves--they make me look like a big, fat, shipping crate. (By the way, Ally, Sweetie, if you are reading this sometime in the future, it is not your fault that I am fat, it is MY fault and mine alone. You are the best thing in my life and I would gain another 300 pounds if that was the only way I could keep you. Mommy's just trying to be healthy so we can do lots of fun things together for a long, long time.) Another benefit of wearing slightly form-fitting clothes (I'll pass on the silver body gloves for now) is that they make me focus on my posture and my shape. It is difficult to hide a weekend-binge bulge in a nice, fitted little top. If something feels a little bit uncomfortable--like it's tugging a little more--I know it's time to get my butt back on healthy habit highway.

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

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.

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.

Oology

I told you yesterday about the little craft that has kept me busy and slim this past week, but I forgot that the ones remaining belong to a few people who read this blog, so a picture would ruin the surprise--I'll post those next week. Our grocery store sells quail eggs and taking a tip from my sisters-in-law, who showed me how to craft chicken eggs using beads, I decided to do the same thing but on a smaller scale--with quail eggs. Here is what I do. First, I wash the egg and poke a hole in both ends then flush out the contents. I cover the egg in about eight layers of Elmer's glue--letting each layer dry before the next. Then I take special seed beads from Japan, they are called Deilcas, and place the beads in any configuration imaginable. Delicas are the best because they are the only seed beads I've found that are uniform in size--so you can actually make a grid of what you want the end product to look like--it is a miniscule mosaic. After all the beads are adhered (I cover the ENTIRE surface of the egg in seed beads), I start my favorite part--spicing it up with Swarovski crystals. These little gems are not cheap (about $10 for 100), but luckily in my working days I has a fascination for the little diamonds and stocked up, so I had plenty of sizes and colors to choose from. When the egg is to my liking, I shine it with Windex; it is the perfect little trick for making the crystals sparkle. I sent one to my mom last week, and she was really happy. You might wonder how I could send such a fragile object through the postal system. Well, my little girl threw that egg on the ground at least a dozen times before I put it in the mail. You see, the layers of Elmer's glue and the tight layer of beads protect the egg, so in the end, it is actually quite durable. It is a very intricate process, but just the thing I needed to keep my mind off snacking. Does anyone else find that having something difficult to DO can actually make you not think about food? My daughter and I went to the local county museum today and they had a whole floor dedicated to Oology; the study of eggs. I was fascinated by all of the different eggs. There were so many sizes, shapes, and colors. Each new little egg on display gave me a new idea for crafting. So when the museum curator winds up missing hundreds of display eggs, tell him the eggs are fine, but just a little bit more sparkly than before.

Super Spring Break

What is a successful spring break for me? Don't eat too much, hang with husband and daughter, and watch movies on the couch. No nightlife for this shrinking goddess. It's so funny, I got this magazine/catalogue in the mail called "Enchantment" or something--It is full of pirate, vampire, renaissance, medieval, and fantasy-inspired dresses and costumes. "Goddess sizes available at NO EXTRA COST," it shouted in bold across the front cover. I laughed out loud. I really liked the outfits inspired by Jane Austin's characters. Haven't you always dreamed of riding bear-back into the sunset riding a gallant steed wearing a dress suitable for Mr. Darcy? I think that's why I love Taylor Swifts music video, "Love Story." Dream come true. And now, thanks to the Enchantment catalog, I can find a fancy frock in MY size, HAH!

I exercised every day this last week, but did not post because I wanted to eat up all the time I had with my family before things got crazy again. Also, I have been working on a little Easter craft that is thrillingly intricate and addictive--it takes my mind off all the food that needs to be eaten. I will post a picture soon.  I wanted to say THANK YOU!! Some of you have noticed that I am getting smaller. You tell me, out loud, and it makes me feel great! Nothing like honest, positive reinforcement. I updated ALL my stats, and I am really happy. I know I could have lost more, faster, but I am a really flighty person. I have never been this dedicated to anything in life besides my marriage and my personal beliefs. It's ok if it takes time because it is going to stick.  This is not a twelve-pound-a-week Hollywood Fast. I am going to attempt to make a new little drawing of myself on a gallant steed, we'll see how that turns out. Please keep commenting and sending your support because it is HELPING. I love you ALL!!

Strawberries for the Soul

We were out of milk this morning (I began this one yesterday, so Saturday) and the grocery store is a straight 1.1 miles away from our little abode, so I got the crazy idea to combine shopping with my morning exercise. I looped my two earth-friendly grocery bags through each arm, one green and one cardboard-brown, snapped on my shuffle, and began my strut toward victory. I looked like a haughty lady going to lunch-- swiveling my hips this way and that while making sure that both arms were at a 90 degree angle and my designer bags dangled in the perfect nook of my elbow joint. I was wearing my workout gear, but the mismatched bags, greasy hair, and squinty, determined eyes probably made me look just a notch better than my earlier "Homeless Harriet" digs. I am all for recycling--we had to memorize a song in first grade called "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle." Thanks to my Great-Lakes-Wildlife-loving elementary school teachers, I was taught to be "Green" long before Leo Dicaprio owned a hybrid, and throwing eggshells and rotting food in your back yard was "Hip." However, I really struggle with the whole reusable bag thing. On a normal shopping day I have to drag my toddler out of the car and be certain she doesn't break her head while doing acrobatics in the grocery cart--how can I keep track of bags? Today I didn't have a cart of course (I had to be able to CARRY these things home) so I just walked around with the bags in my right hand, and a small handle-basket in my left--So no one would think I was stealing or being sneaky. Do you have to flatten the bags until you get into the checkout line?

I filled the basket with two half gallons of milk, four cartons of blueberries (my husband and child are OBSESSED with the blue gems), two cartons of strawberries, Bryers vanilla ice cream, whipped cream (the big can), angel food cake, a cooking magazine, and a bundle of asparagus. I asked the bag boy to try to make them as even as possible, "Because, ehem, I was WALKING home." He looked at me as if to say "Dozens of people walk home from here every single day, what makes YOU so special?" I guess the journey home was getting to my head. At first I held the bags in each hand swaying just inches from the pavement, that was too hard, and I couldn't go very fast, so I hoisted the bags over each shoulder being careful to face the ice cream AWAY from morning sun hitting my back. But the strain on my shoulders was too much, so with the straps still on each shoulder, I swooped my arms around each bag to have a little more support on the bottom and sides. I looked like someone imitating a large ape.

Two-hundred yards away from the grocery store was a familiar face sitting in the shade of a bus-stop right beside the large Veterans Hospital. I have passed him many times but usually with my toddler in a stroller. "Bum." I thought to myself as I had all those times before. He has a grand white beard that could pass for Merlin, or What's-His-Face from Lord of the Rings, Gandalf? A worn camping pack and sport bag screamed "I'm Homeless." As I walked passed him this time, something told me to turn around. "What am I supposed to say? What do I have to offer him?" I asked myself. "You have strawberries. Uh, strawberries? No, that's silly." But my gut was telling me that no matter how strange, I needed to turn around and offer the man a package of strawberries. I flipped around and approached the white-bearded man. "Hello Sir," I said politely, "Hello, good morning," he replied. I stammered, "Uh, would you like a package of strawberries?" He gave me a twisted-nose glance in questioning. "It's looking to be a hot day, and I just got them from the grocery store, I thought they might be nice to eat," I explained feeling very awkward. He paused a moment, and looked up at me with a hand shading the sun from his eyes. He checked my eyes as if to say, you are really serious, aren't you? "Yeah, sure, I'll take some strawberries." I was relieved and fished out the package from the green bag and asked him if he was a veteran. He said yes; he served in the Army state-side during Viet Nam. "My dad was in Cape Canaveral during Viet Nam with the Navy," I offered. His face lit up, "Oh great," he said. He looked away and seemed at a loss for words. "Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy those strawberries, and thanks for your service," I said. We waved goodbye, and I walked home feeling very humbled.

I do not tell this story to be vain or to portray myself as an AMAzing person, rather, it is to illustrate the opposite. So often I have judged this man assuming he was a crazy vagabond with his life in the ditch--literally. I am glad that this time I actually listened to my better-self. I have joked a lot about how people see me as I exercise and go about my life. I may appear as a let-herself-go-slob to many, but those who take the time to talk to me understand that I am a mother, and a wife, and a person--just trying to do my best. If I had passed this man again I would have put him back into the "Bum" folder of my mind. But we are quite the same: people, judged, with stories, and trying to make the best with what we've got.