Whassup. So, I lost 2.2 pounds last week. Right on! I am still 1.4 above where I was pre-birthday, and that in itself was around a pound up from my glorious, all-too-brief visit with the 140s. I am trying my dangdest not to get caught in this stubborn up-down-up-down cycle that tends to happen when I get bored. But you know what they say: tryin' is lyin'. Do, or do not. There is no try. Eh, suck it Yoda.
So on Saturday we are heading to my mom's for the annual Family Weekend extravaganza. Back mid-day on Monday. My plan is to hold off on getting drunk and eating everything for as long as I can, which may take me to as late as Saturday night. We'll see.
The last session of Booty Boot Camp was supposed to be last night. I skipped it, and then it turned out it got cancelled due to thundershowers. So it's been rescheduled for Friday night, and now I have to face the whole guilt trip over again about wanting to skip it but knowing it is for my own good, blah, blah etc. I am still SO not interested in sweating and making effort. This of course contributes to the up-down-up-down phenomenon. Or is a result of it.
I had a totally crazy notion that has not yet departed the swirling, dry ice pensieve where my thoughts live, which is to sign up for TWO locations of Booty Boot Camp (a Mon/Wed class and a Tue/Thurs class) - just for the month of September. Four weeks of pain and whinging. The idea is to bank on the limited amount of Fall Renewal Energy that I always have - you know, that sense that it's another school year, everything's a blank slate and if you just apply yourself, you could really hit the big time as far as achieving your potential. It's the Back To School factor, which I have never quite shaken, some 20 years after school has ended for me.
So I'll keep you posted. Meantime, pray for me as I go for the gold this weekend. I will settle for bronze. Actually, a certificate saying I've completed the weekend would be fine.
So, I mentioned last week that I was gonna give Aqua Fit a go. Most atypically, I followed through and actually went. Right on! Pointsss!
It was pretty much as I had anticipated. Not very challenging, and for the first time in my life, I was the youngest and fittest person at a group exercise class. Am I going back? You bet your Hand Banana I am!
It was so great to be in a pool again. Something about the scent of chlorine is so comforting. Maybe it's the guarantee of safety from horseflies, weeds, water snakes and leeches. Maybe it's blueness. Yeah, I realize it isn't blue. kthx. I don't know. Me and chlorine, we go way back. When I was a kid, my intrepid single mom worked hard and got a promotion and we moved out to a deluxe townhouse in the suh-huh-burb. We chose our unit for its close proximity (directly across the street) to the pool. In summer, my mom didn't need to worry about babysitters. I was in the pool all day, every day. My parents called me "water baby". And then several years ago, I was at a job that was right around the corner from a community centre. I got into the habit of swimming every day on my lunch break. I had to buy a new bathing suit about three times a year, I swam so much. I loved it.
So back to the Aqua Fit. It wasn't very taxing. I almost felt guilty for going to an exercise class and not feeling more desperate for it to be over. I decided I could show up half an hour early and swim lengths, to get a bit of cardio action. So tonight I'm stopping at The Bay to pick up some new goggles, perhaps even an Esther Williams flowered bathing cap, and then heading for the pool.
Hey man, where'd everybody go?!!! I am lonesome. To prove it, I ate an entire box of Lucky Charms yesterday. Alas, it wasn't until I checked my Google Analytics yet again and discovered a sad little lumpy trail very close to zeroes every day that I realized, over the top antics and food contest triumphs are useless in cyberspace unless you blog about them.
Maybe y'all are just echoing my own apathy back at me. Too hot too type. Well, sure.
Anyway, I went back to JC on Saturday. My weight has zoom, zoom, zoom-a-zoomed, up to 154 pounds. You would think that would have prevented the Lucky Charms incident but you would have thought wrong. And I would have been insulted that you know me so little after a year and a half of this vicious cycling. As it happens, no harm was done since this place is emptier than a dictionary entry for "refudiate".
Okay, okay, my rebellious foray into stomach expansion has at last played itself out. I am still in the process of ascertaining exactly how much damage my little jaunt has wrought. I weighed myself on Saturday morning. It was not pretty. I was up 7 pounds from the day I flew out west (about a week and a half earlier), and that number was already up a few pounds from the birthday eatings. Of course a lot of it is water weight. I have dropped 5 pounds in the last 5 days of wagons east.
I am currently not at all interested in exercise. Last week it was sweltering, India-hot in Toronto. Since I was OTW anyway, why would I struggle through booty camp when instead I could make a beeline for air conditioning and pizza? (Um, how about, because it's better to sweat from exercise than from bloat? Yeah.)
I went to Booty Camp last night for the first time in 2 weeks. So much for the exercise motivation of not wasting money I've already spent on a class. Ah well. It was tough but not terrible. I was totally inspired by a new woman who is much heavier than me, toughing it out, finishing last in all of the cardio courses set out for us (run to certain point, do 5 pushups, run some more, do burpees, run up and down hill, do sit-ups, etc.) When I'm falling behind I just skip the pushups or whatever, but she was doing everything, no matter how long it took her. I thought, good on her. (Less so on me...) She and I were later partnered up for an insane exercise (one person is on the ground in pushup position, the other grabs pushup person's legs, sort of wheelbarrow style, and you have to do pushups with them holding your legs up. We both fell on our faces with every attempt) -- anyway, we both just congratulated each other on even BEING there and decided not to worry about keeping up with the January Joneses.
Tonight I am going to check out Aqua Fit at the Manulife Centre Good Life club. It's the only Good Life in Toronto with a pool, and it's only a 10 minute walk from my apartment. I thought I'd try something a little lower impact, in water no less, since my motivation to sweat is not what it has been in the past. (Well geez I sweat every day just walking to work!) Part of me feels guilty for "taking the easy way out" i.e. going to an exercise class for old ladies and fatties. Isn't that lame? Anyway, I realize my hubris will most likely splash water in my face when the old ladies kick my ass into the deep end tonight. We shall see.
What about y'all? Do you exercise in summer? How do you stay motivated? I go pretty easy on myself. Perhaps too easy, but then again, at least I come back to it eventually. What I lack in stamina I make up for in Sisyphusian determination. Or, inevitable anxiety about my ever-bulging pooch. Either way.
It's been a little while. I like to keep you in suspense. Currently I am in my early summer shame spiral. It's an annual event for this time of year. Not feeling too shamey, I am happy to report. Here's the sitch: my birthday is June 26. This year, the festivities started a little early. We had pre-birthday birthday week eatings. Then there were the birthday eatings. Not too bad this year, actually. This was followed by a couple of days of post-birthday eatings. Oops. Next thing you know, it's June 30 and I'm on a plane out to my Nana's for 4 days of family eatings. I made fair-to-middling attempts to keep the sabotage light and airy, like a buttery croissant. Getting drunk those two nights didn't help. Ah, WTF. It's family. I'm supposed to endure it sober?
So anyway. I came back on Sunday morning this week. Red-eye. I went to bed when I got home, and when I woke up later I felt like, hmmm... not done eating yet. So this week has been total baron munchausen. I haven't weighed myself since before I left for my Nana's - a week ago, come to think. I keep thinking I can still rescue this trainwreck, get rid of at least the water retention numbers before I get weighed on Saturday. But then I start to feel reckless. But then I see myself in the mirror. But then I think of chocolate. But then my pants are not as roomy. You can see my dilemma!
Anyway, slightly off the rails at this point. I just ate a 235 gram bag of Salt and Vinegar chips, here in my office at work. The bag was hidden from view in one of my canvas grocery bags. I was sneaking handfuls out. (SECRET EATING!!! The best kind for obsessive eaters such as I!) Alas, my tongue feels like it went for a swim in the Dead Sea. This gives new meaning to the term "salty tongue". Fuck, yeah!!!
First things first, I will relieve you of your hopping crossed-leg feeling of anxiety and assure you that I lost a pound this week and have now crossed from one meaningless family of numbers to another. Weight: 149.4; total lost: 21.6 pounds. Good on me.
Saturday I came back from the weigh-in to surprise pizza and wings. In the afternoon! Insane. Saturdays are a day of gluttony and indulgence in my household. It's kinda disgusting but it is one of life's small pleasures.
Anyway, Sunday I got back on the horse, until I came home from the shopping mall and felt like eating ice cream and such. Then take out Thai for dinner, followed by macademia nut cookies and All Dressed. Yiiiiikes. Food coma. Two nights in a row of this crap is a punishment. The Miaouw reassures me: "It's Birthday Week!" The Miaouw loves a good week of totally insane eating and gluttony as much as the next guy. More than most guys, actually. Last year we had TWO cakes on my birthday. Cake is one of my all-time favourite things to binge on, but even so, that was an embarrassing amount of cake. I am going to put my foot down this year with the Miaouw, though. One king size cake only.
It is interesting, though, going through a night of bingeing and watching myself from my Samantha-from-Bewitched perch at the top of the room. You can't read a book about eating awareness and then engage in compulsive eating without some degree of cringeing/shoulder shrugging. I tell myself it is okay to do anything that I want to do as long as I choose to do it with awareness. Sometimes awareness is something I fight against, I think. Tricky stuff.
Yeah, I got nuthin. Last week I gained .4, so I am still clinging stubbornly to the 150s. It's fun here! You should try it. Have some ice cream. Or, some celery, depending. God aren't you sick of it? I know I am. At the same time, after awhile, I find I settle into a rhythm. I am sick of it mattering so much to me though. So I pretend that it doesn't. Fake it to make it. Sometimes that even works.
Booty Boot Camp fucking hurts like a motherfuck. Sorry Christians and under-agers, but it's the truth. Ah well. There is satisfaction in getting through a class, to be sure. I haaaate when I look around because I am taking a break when my gluteous is maximussed out, and I see all these skinny ...young ladies... still cheerily lifting their tiny asses off the ground. At such times I comfort myself with the fact that I am out there AT ALL. (Which I wasn't, yesterday. Sigh. I felt as though I'd cheated on my taxes or littered or something.)
On Monday I did 45 mins of cardio before Bootcamp, which I thought was superior work. I went to the gym for another 45 mins of cardio on Tuesday, and was set to repeat the pre-Bootcamp cardio last night, when suddenly I was hit with a wave of exhaustion. I went home with the intention of napping and then doing a run on the treadmill later in the evening instead. Anybody laying odds on how that worked out? (Tip: go for the safe bet.)
So tonight I have plans to do some sort of something or other. And tomorrow, glorious Summer Friday (my office has summer flex hours - we work 45 mins longer for 9 days and get the 10th off, i.e. every other Friday) my plan is to get out my beautiful, dusty Specialized bike (that's me posing with it during a bike tour of British Columbia in 2003) and go for a loooooong bike ride on Lake Ontario's glistening-if-you-don't-look-too-closely shoreline.
And then on Saturday I will get weighed in BUT I TOTALLY DON'T CARE IF I HIT THE 140s.
How's everybody? I am a little bit shy, after posting my gearing up for change blog last week. Feels like, okay, I put it out there, so now I have to do it. Which... not really. Since posting it, I have retreated in a most typical fashion, resisting my own throw-down to self. That's okay. I recognize it as part of my process. Haven't picked up the Geneen Roth book since, either. I could get all mean and bully myself over it, but instead I find myself laughing gently as a parent does toward a child (or as a human companion does toward a cat). Oh, Lindsay! You silly girl! I say it to myself affectionately. Practicing kindness as best I can.
Meantime, for those who only pretend to be highly evolved and really want to know the numbers sitch, I have now lost 20.6 pounds. Last week I went in to JC all set to gain access to the long lost land of the 140s. Of course my body defied me and I lost .6, which put me at exactly 150. Fine, if that's the way you want to be about it, body... uh, okay. Next week. Or, the week after. Whatever. I'm highly evolved and don't care one whit.
On Monday I went to my first session of Booty Camp Fitness. I had my last [sniffle!!] session with Derek on Friday, so it was perfect timing. Booty Camp is for the ladeez only. It's twice a week in an outdoor setting and it seems designed to rip your quad muscles into shreds. Two days later, they are sore to the touch. I do know from the last time I did it that the soreness goes away after a couple of sessions. It is a brutal workout. They make Derek look like Roseanne. Anyway, that's the fitness update.
Okay, on to subject heading: today's blog is about uncertainty regarding body image. For as long as I can remember, I have not been able to pass a reflective surface of any kind without glancing over for reassurance and/or self-flagellation. It's humiliating to admit one's extreme vanity, but there it is. The thing is, I just can't tell. Sometimes I'm walking outside and I look in a darkened window and I'm like, hunh, not bad. Okay, you can pass for average. Next thing you know I am punished severely for my hubris by the bathroom mirror at work.
I know my measurements, and when I watch shows like Bulging Brides and The Last 10 Pounds Bootcamp, I see these women who have similar measurements to mine in their "before" stage, and to me they look pretty average. But I am so conditioned to think of myself as "the fat girl" that I don't trust what I see in the mirror (unless it's the distorted fat-view). And of course, I always factor in my height (5'2"). I might have similar measurements to the women on the shows I mentioned above, but if that's the case, I usually assume I'm 5 inches shorter than them. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But when it comes to assessing where I sit on the spectrum of body types, I really honestly just do not know. I think that I must be fooling myself when I see a reflection that looks okay (if not fantastic).
I always used to say that my goal in wanting to lose weight is not to be super-skinny - I don't even entertain the notion anymore. I just want to be able to walk down the street and feel like I am average. "Not fat." Like, if someone were to casually glance at me, they would not mentally classify me as overweight. (Spoken like a person who does this to everyone else she passes on the street. Urgh.)
At the first session of Booty Boot Camp two nights ago, I scanned the group of about 30 women, vainly searching for someone with lumps and imperfections. (Most of the women there were about 15-20 years younger than me and looked the way I'd hope to look in my "after" picture.) I was relieved to spot a few, and even more relieved that, actually, I didn't really care all that much. I'm out there, challenging myself, working just as hard as any of the other women. Some of us may have a little futher to go. Some of us may never reach the "destination". I think part of "getting ready to get ready" is letting go of this false destination, and re-setting my sights on a more fulfilling goal. I suspect if I ever find a way to absorb the Geneen Roth message, it won't matter. I will accept my body.
Not there yet. Not even close. But... closer than I used to be. And that's good enough for now.
Two or three lifetimes ago, I confided to a new friend that I was unhappy in my marriage and that I didn't know what I was going to do about it. She gave me some very simple and compassionate advice that I have always remembered: "Give yourself permission to do nothing about it, except get ready for change." At the time, I was young (24) and it hadn't occurred to me that I could just sit with my feelings, be aware that I had a problem but do nothing to solve it. Her advice came as such a huge relief to me. "When you're ready to do something, you will." She was right.
Well I've been giving myself permission to not deal with my dieting and eating addictions for about 10 years now. Not that this has only been a problem for 10 years. But 10 years ago was when I started seeing a therapist after successfully dieting down to 120 pounds. Despite the fact I preened in front of every mirror I passed, I was utterly miserable. My job was stressful, I was over worked and under appreciated. I was engaged to a guy I loved dearly but was not in love with. I hungered, but I did not know for what. I got into the habit of binge eating for 2-3 days after getting weighed in, and then exercising furiously and eating frugally for the rest of the week in a desperate bid to hold on to my new thin body.
I told my new therapist about my diet/binge cycle and she said if I really wanted to get to the core of the problem, I needed to stop dieting all together. "Eat whatever you want," she told me, even if it was cake for dinner. Music to my ears! I gained 20 pounds in the space of a couple of months. (Hmmmm, my inner Marge Simpson thought.) She also suggested that I try "eating in awareness". That is, don't watch TV, don't read, don't do anything else while you are eating. Stay in the moment and pay attention to what happens when you eat. I tried it a few times and I gotta admit, it freaked me out. I found the exercise too challenging. It made me afraid.
I'm not sure what I was afraid of, but I can tell you that the fear has never left me. It is at times paralyzing, debilitating, and probably contributes greatly to my cycling depression in the past few years. I know that I'm afraid that "there is no cure" for what ails me. I've tried to just accept that binge eating is "what I do", and tried to control it with a balance of eating well and exercising in between. But I know there's a lot more to it, and that I've been afraid of the hard emotional work I need to do to get to the bottom of it.
Some time later, after I'd quit my stressful job, broken up with my fiancé, gained 10 more pounds and stopped seeing this therapist, I realized that I wasn't ready to deal with the core issues behind my eating disorder. In the interim years since then, I've yo-yo'd up and down the scale, been officially diagnosed with binge eating disorder, sought treatment that I wasn't ready for, and started to believe that there is no hope for me, that I will always look to food as my best friend and worst enemy, recognize it as hollow and superficial but keep running back to it, seeking the validation I desperately crave. All along, in the back of my mind, I know that diets don't work, that I am substituting food for... something, that I am avoiding dealing with some fundamental core issues. When I have those conscious moments of awareness, I soothe myself by saying, "give yourself permission to do nothing, until you are ready". I think sometimes it just takes as long as it takes, and the best thing we can do for ourselves is forgive ourselves for needing and taking comfort where we know we can find it, even if it is fleeting.
In my blog from last month, Coping with success, my beloved friend Joy commented that she'd been reading Geneen Roth's latest book, Women, Food and God. Joy said Geneen Roth has been around a long time writing about "food stuff", but I had never heard of her. I did a bit of googling and decided to check out some of her writing. So I went out one restless Saturday night and picked up one of her first books, Feeding the Hungry Heart. On the way back from the bookstore, I bought a huge bag of chocolate from the bulk candy store. Heh.
It took me a couple of weeks to start reading it. And I am reading it in small bits, taking time to absorb the message. But as soon as I opened the book and read the introduction, I realized I had found someone who understands. It gave me hope. My intuition had told me this would be my experience, before I even opened the book. (Hence the pit stop for chocolate en route home, avoiding the book for a couple of weeks, etc.... I knew reading it would, or could, lead to facing some powerful demons.)
I have not given up dieting (have lost 20 pounds, FYI), and I have not given up bingeing on weigh in day. But I am getting ready to make a change, to face the real hunger within. It feels like the right time, at last.
[Aside: after a quick perusal of the Goog, it seems that Homestyle Two Bite Brownies are a Canadian delicacy, available in some US markets, but not pervasively. One less delicioush temptation for my American fwiends to deal with...]
Well anyway. Now that I've made myself crave. Just a quick check in. I gained .4 this week, which, considering my steely lack of determination last week is not bad. I have re-doubled my efforts this week (oh, except I finished off the dregs of the Miaouw's bag of Ringolo's last night. And some sort of nomtastic goodies in the kitchen at work yesterday. Pawdammit, everywhere I turn I am confronted by delicioushnesh.)
Anyway, inspired by my colleague and namesake L-Mac2, I have decided this will be a week of perspiration. Ran on Sunday night, worked out hard yesterday with Derek, and tonight I have big plans to go to a group exercise class at Good Life. Not sure which one/which location yet. If I don't do that, I will go home and run. But I thought it would be good to change it up a bit. Plus, the group ex classes are an hour, which I am less likely to do on my own, je confess. I'm looking at Body Pump, which combines light weights with cardio. Or maybe Body Combat: a-judo, a chop-chop-chop! I like the kicking and punching business.
Anyway, the big plan is to work out in some capacity every day this week. It's mighty do-able. I gotta give thanks to my girl L-Mac2 for her shining example. I love how we all inspire each other to do more.
So, what are you going to do this week to achieve the perspiration goal? (I've decided my goal shall be your goal. Unless you don't want to.) If you're still tied to your couch (no judgies! I love the greencouch), here's something to consider: The Couch Potato Workout. I've been meaning to try it for awhile. Anyway, it's better than nothing!
Did I say this was a quick check in? Stop talking! (Not you. Please, continue to talk.)
Remind me not to go on about how great I'm doing. It only leads to my split personality type demon thing resolving to knock me down a peg or four.
Okay, no, I haven't eaten the entire city. It only feels like it. My diseased perspective sees everything as an all-or-nothing battle royale. That's how the demon thingy gets a foothold. I have a moment where I waver uncertainly and while I try to catch my balance this little self-hating punk skateboards into me and I'm splat on my ass on the sidewalk, picking up the pieces of my tattered self esteem.
Okay, no. Sorry, I do enjoy the theatrics. Basically everything's fine. I haven't given into the call of the wild eating yet. Most days this week I had a little something extra. A package of Rolos on Sunday. Two thirds of a bag of Kettle Corn popcorn on Tuesday. A small bowl of BBQ Fritos on Wednesday. Four little single serving boxes of raisins instead of one. That sort of stuff. And all week I have been fighting off a powerful urge to stop at the Shoppers Drug Mart on the way home and pick up a box of chocolates. On Tuesday I went so far as to go into the store and stare at them. That was the night I got popcorn instead - I figured 500 extra calories was a win, compared to 1500 for the chocolates. I reckon y'all would agree.
I also have done pretty much SFA this week as far as exercise. Yesterday I actually lugged my gym bag to work, full intentions to run with the Ladies, then... didn't feel like it. I lugged the bag home again, rather than leaving it at work overnight since I work out with Derek on Fridays. I told myself I might feel like running at home that night. And actually, after watching two episodes of The Last 10 Pounds Bootcamp, I even kinda wanted to go downstairs for a run. I wound up talking myself out of it.
It's all a mental game. There's a feeling of having hit a threshold for willpower or something. Rebelliousness sets in. Gah. I hate that I'm like this. I see it all unfolding as it has so many times in my life and I'm just sort of at a loss. I worry that failure is inevitable, so why not just give in to it? The little extras each night would be okay, to a point, but of course a little extra never seems like enough. There is no indulgence big enough to satisfy this craving. I know, because I will eat to the point of physical pain, rest for awhile and then return to the source of affliction, still pretending that it holds some sort of comfort. And I know it doesn't! And I know I don't want to sabotage myself! And yet, clearly I do. Or, the skate-punk demon thingy does. I kinda want to punch my own lights out a bit.
I feel like the best thing to do is to not react. Just chill, sit with the feelings as long as I can stand to, not try to stifle whatever it is that is driving this urge to sabotage myself.
Feh. God I bug myself. Anyway, whatever, I'll be fine.
Fresh off my triumphant finish at the Sporting Life 10k run in Toronto! Okay, I gotta admit, I didn't triumph as triumphantly as I was hoping to. I finished in 1:07:07, which is exactly 2 minutes faster than last year. This is not insignificant, but less than I was shooting for. I feel like I did not have the mental strength to soldier through, take fewer walking breaks, etc. With about 2-3 km (1.5-2 miles) left in the race, I knew that if I could focus enough to slow down my pace but keep it steady, without anymore breaks, that I could meet my goal. And I made the choice not to suffer for it. I did a good job and I'm proud of my improvement. I'm just not one of those athletes who knows how to suffer.
And really, the race felt like suffering to me. About halfway through I was thinking to myself about how much I just wanted to walk the rest of the way. I don't know if this is just something runners go through when they are out there on race day, or it's because it doesn't come naturally to me or what. Maybe I just have to keep working at it, to improve my fitness, so it isn't so difficult to finish. The first 20-30 minutes of the run went great. Although, okay. That's where there are a couple of really great downhill grades. (The advantages of which, by the way, are purchased on credit with payment in full to be delivered to my thobbing quads the next day.)
I am still determined to improve, and try again in July for the 10 miler. I think I need to train outdoors more. I figured out why the treadmill is so much easier: it creates momentum that you have to make on your own when you run outside. Anyway, I know I have been improving my times and my endurance, and I'm motivated to keep working at it, but I just want to say: don't love running. Love the challenge, though. And the benefits I've seen. It's good to set goals and work to achieve them.
Congrats to all the Ladies of the Cancer, by the way. They totally smoked. I think five (?) of them broke an hour, and the others were not far behind. Hat tip to the Torq and Kat ("wrath of" in the comments) for all their ever-lovin support and encouragement.
Okay, the other triumph this week: lost 2.4 pounds! WORD. My metabolism is like a tourist meandering along Yonge St., taking in the sites, in no great hurry, and I'm trying to get around them so I can pick up my pace. Er, I think that metaphor got away on me. Point being: slow. So if I lose more than a single pound in a week, it's great news. Thus, I was very happy with the number. I am through trying to believe that the numbers on the scale don't mean anything! I love the numbers!
Wouldja lookit the date on this post? It's almost MAY! It's a windy day here in Toronto and on my walk to work I looked up and saw a big old tree, covered in glorious green leaves, rustling and swaying to and fro, and it just made me beam. Love this time of year! Blossoms on the trees everywhere too. Fabulous.
Okay, so on Saturday I had my monthly measurements taken. In addition to the .8 of a pound lost, bringing the grand total to 15.4, I was heartened to learn I've lost another 2 inches off my waist, plus an inch off the pooch and an inch off the gazongas as well. The hips remain stubbornly shapely. Rump likes being rump!
Since the start of February, I've lost seven inches from my waist! Wow. My middle was getting pretty thickly there. My measurements as of Saturday are 38-30-41. (Maybe 41.5?) If I was 4 or 5 inches taller, that actually wouldn't be too bad! But for now, I'm pretty pleased - at least everything is in proportion. Total inches lost all over is 19. But I take this number with a grain of salt because they now measure the abdomen/pooch, which means you get another bunch of inches to add to your overall total that once went un-tracked. Still, though, it is great to see the progress represented numerically: NINETEEN! NINETEEN INCHES OF FAT REMOVED, AH, HA, HA, HAAAAAAAAA!
Okay so this Sunday is the big 10k run. I'm feeling ready - last night I ran 5.5 miles (10k is about 6.2 miles), in a blistering time of 57:51. I don't know how it's going to go, running outside. Last year I was surprised by how much faster I ran than I had been training/expecting. I think a lot of it is the adrenaline, the excitement of the event, being surrounded by all these other runners, the energy you get from one another. I would like to better my time from last year (1:09:07) by 4-5 minutes if possible. I feel like I've been training a lot stronger and faster than I was last year. But I realize that's a lot of time to shave. I'll be happy with any time that is an improvement on last year.
First, let us count: this week's numbers Saturday weigh-in says I lost 1.4 pounds last week. Yesss! Total grows to 14.4. Monthly measurements are next week.
Also, on Sunday I ran 5 miles continuously i.e. no walkie breaks! Holy shiza, that was new for me. I did all of it at a pace of over 5.5 mph. Actually most was at 5.7. My time was 52:49. And yesterday, I finally managed to run a mile at 6 mph pace (i.e. a 10 minute mile), without a break. I am trying to get used to running a faster pace, for shorter distances at least, so I am not continually shamed by the Ladies of the Cancer. This is contingent on none of them improving, of course.
Segue to the point So clearly the running thing occupies a steady presence in my mental top 5 these days. I was talking to impressive actual marathoner Claire at work today. She referenced the upcoming Mississauga Marathon, which she is participating in. She mentioned wanting to beat Oprah's marathon time of 4½ hours. Dang, Oprah! That seems pretty good to me. This got me to Googling, and I came across an article from that bastion of Fancy Feast chumming for the pop philosopher fishies, salon.com, entitled How Oprah ruined the marathon by Edward McClelland.
The article was first published in November 2007 so it's not new. The author's incendiary complaint is that marathons have ceased to be competitive now that Oprah has brought her self help book club legions to the party, convincing everyone that anyone can run a marathon, and that the point of running one is not to win, but just to finish the damn thing. Hence the average race time in American marathons has expanded by around 45 minutes in the past 15 years. Schleps everywhere are bringing down the average in their selfish aspiration to get fit and challenge themselves to do something once unthinkable.
When Oprah expanded the sport, she also lowered the bar for excellence. For the previous generation of marathoners, the goal had been qualifying for Boston. Now, it was beating Oprah. Her time of four hours and 29 minutes -- the Oprah Line -- became the new benchmark for a respectable race. (That was P. Diddy's goal when he ran New York.)
Once the supreme test for hardened runners, the marathon became a gateway into the sport. Soon, gravel paths were crowded with 5-mile-an-hour joggers out to check "26.2 miles" off their life lists.
The guy comes off like an elitist twat, even if I kinda understand his point. I thought this was sort of funny if elitist and twatty:
I met a lawyer who started running because, "They say if you can run a marathon, you can do anything!" The marathon was no longer a competition. It was a self-improvement exercise.
Well anyway, who cares if some people use it as a self-improvement exercise? A test of their mettle, their ability to set a goal, stay focused on it, commit to seeing it through to completion. And all the while they improve their health and fitness. As long as the workhorse softies stay at the back, there's room on the road for both the inspirational athletes and the commoner schleps.
That does it. I've just decided: after the 10k in May, I will focus on my next goal: the Acura 10 miler (16k) in July. I'm doin' it! If that goes okay, who knows. A half-marathon schlep may be in my future. And if I can run half a marathon, I can half-do anything!
I had an awesome run last night. Per the training schedule the Ladies of the Cancer are using for the Sporting Life 10k on May 2nd, I ran 4.5 miles last night. I have been trying to gently increase my speed and endurance. On shorter run nights I set a higher speed on the treadmill and try to run my fastest mile (best so far is 10:24 - I am aiming for 10:00, or 6 mph, for now). So I ran 3 miles without resting, in around 32:50. Which is great, averaging an 11 minute/5.5 mph mile. Very happy with that at this point. My time for the whole run was 50:56, so not quite the 11 minute mile on average, but still, I was pretty happy. It is good to see progress, and to feel it.
Alright, so, subject line. Hang on: background to subject line. My contract at the cancer place is ending on July 31. I've been here for almost a decade. Almost my entire 30s! So, I look forward to a change. It's been a good home and allowed me to buy a modest condo in downtown TO, but, yeah. Need a break, and a change.
So I'm saving a nest egg for the "break" part of that, which means changing my budget. I'm giving up my personal training after this last batch of sessions I've paid for are used, which... I'm not sure (can't bear to find out), but I think is soon. In a month or so. I'll have to check with Derek.
The cost over a year for my personal training was around $8000. Holy geez I could probably buy some decent plastic surgery with that! I used to worry about it being an indulgence, but the Miaouw reassured me - hey, it's my money to spend! I have to say that, for me, it was money well spent. It kept me going to the gym faithfully twice a week, no matter how I was feeling, what I was eating, how depressed I was, or injured. I know I would not have been going to the gym in the fall if I hadn't been financially committed to going.
But I was glad when I went. And I worked out harder than I ever would have done on my own, using muscle groups I'd never worked before and learning about better technique, etc. I told Derek I wanted Michelle Obama arms and by god I will have them one day! In the fall and winter, he checked in with me every week about my depression, and was totally supportive and non-judgmental when I confessed falling into old eating patterns, how shitty it made me feel about myself, but that I was committed to working hard for that one hour with him.
I'm going to miss seeing him twice a week. He is a great guy and we have fun together; we have become friends. He calls me "Lindsay-son" (shouts it, actually, while I cringe) and I call him "Miyagi". It's dorky and awesome.
So I'm trying to plan for a more cost-efficient motivation to keep me in check once the sessions with Derek are used up. I think I will sign up for Booty Bootcamp again. I did a 4 week session in Fall 2008 and it was tough and awesome. It's women-only, outdoor, twice a week, rain or shine, an all-over workout with cardio and muscle resistance training. I couldn't walk for two days after the first session I went to. Anyway, much cheaper, outdoors (I hate the crowds in the group exercise classes at the gym), supporting small business and businesswomen, and social too. I will keep you posted.
Additional motivation: there is serious talk amongst the Ladies of the Cancer that we may sign up for the Acura Toronto 10-Miler on July 11. That's 6 more kilometres/4 more miles than we'll be running on May 2, with 2 months to train up to it. I think it's totally do-able and great motivation to stick with the fitness plan. Also, proceeds go the cancer fighters, so rah, rah, live the brand and all that!
Lunch time is over! Time for you to log in to Facebook and see what new postings are there!
Easter recap: nom nom nom nom Plateau update: down one pound over past 2 weeks - I think Easter nomming may have fired up my metabolism a bit? Anyway, I'm feeling okay. Total loss is 13 pounds since Feb 1.
What a feelin... So I was at the gym on Friday for my torture session with Derek. It wasn't my best outing. I gotta admit, I was a little whiny. Derek wasn't in the mood for it (imagine if your job entailed listening to fat people whine about push ups - shudder). I was feeling kinda bad about it. Not like, slit my wrists bad or anything, but just... "you can do better than this".
Anyway, the last 7 mins of our workout, we were doing some cardio on the bike. The last minute is always a set of two 20 second sprints, and I go as hard as I can. I'm thinking it probably looks impressive, especially because I sweat so much that I look like the Flashdance water scene.
So in the locker room, I'm blow-drying my hair and this tall, gorgeous, fit woman with a fantastic afro walks up to me on her way out and says, "You were really inspiring me during my workout today". For reals! I said, "Right on!" and bumped fists with her. She inspired me right back, or helped me to reframe my negative thoughts and feelings about myself. Cool.
Hail Ana full of grace... The Miaouw and I have been talking about the online pro-ana movement, or sub-culture, or cult, not sure which is the best term to describe it. It is freaky and alarming and fascinating. If you don't know what I'm talking about, the link above gives some info, but it's better to visit some pro-ana sites in themselves, where young girls defend anorexia nervosa as a "lifestyle choice", not a mental illness, and post images of skeletal models as "thinspiration". Yeeeikes.
The Miaouw pointed out that for some girls, this value set has morphed into a quasi-religion, in which they pray to the personification, "Ana" to give them strength to resist temptation, to forgive them when they slip, to make them "free and light". Whenever I land on one of these sites, I always wonder if it's real or satire. I mean, dude, it is So! Fucked! Up! Check this out, from Cassandra's site, ~Save Me Ana~:
Dear Ana,
I offer you my soul, my heart and my bodily functions. I give you all my earthly possessions. I seek your wisdom, your faith and your feather weight.
I pledge to obtain the ability to float, to lower my weight to the single digits, I pledge to stare into space, to fear food, and to see obese images in the mirror. I will worship you and pledge to be a faithful servant until death does us part.
If I cheat on you and procreate with Ronald McDonald, Dave Thomas, the colonel or that cute little dog. I will kneel over my toilet and thrust my fingers deep in my throat and pray for your forgiveness.
If you stay with me, I will worship you daily, I will run miles a day, come rain, snow, bitter cold or searing heat I will run from the pain and in fright. I will do 1,000 sit ups a day and lie to my family about what I eat and how I feel. I will stop weeping when I feel your warm arms embrace my shivering body. I will numb the hunger pains with razor blades and your strength.
If you give me the strength to fade away I will love you and worship you forever. When i'm finally faded to nothing, when you've given me the gift of ending this torturous life. I will float on to the next world and be thin and beautiful payment for my undying love for you in this world. I ask only one more thing you, please ana, take away this hatred for my pain and allow me to be free and light.
Forever, Cassandra
I think I speak for all of us when I say holy fucking jesus h KEY-RIST on a popsicle stick. How can this not be read as satire? I srsly don't get it. Wow.
As is typical of us, we miaouws have irreverently started throwing out prayers to Ana. The Miaouw asked me to print this image (by Ruth Gwily) off for him at work, for his "thinspiration". I did, and when I got home and saw half a stick of butter he'd left out on the counter, I tacked it to the fatty demon, right in its heart! We're gonna start work on a treatment for a new TV show: Ana the Butter Slayer.
Well anyway, that's a two-sided look at inspiration; one sane and healthy and slightly ironic; the other totally off the charts crazy for cocoa puffs that I shall stab myself in the eye with if I attempt to ingest one. Whatever works for y'all!
What's the word, now word up? Rhetorical question. Okay, so, how's everybody doing in the Battle of the Bulbousness? Are you sweating and grunting your way through thrice weekly workouts? Training for a marathon of aerobic smugness? Contemplating the idea of one day maybe taking the stairs? Forsaking second breakfast and feeling that's good enough for now? Some where in between? Let me know. Let us aaaaaallll know. Here at D-Weighted, we do not judge. Well, we judge, but not openly. Kidding, kidding! I keed because I love. You know that.
So, you want to know about me? How kind. Since you clicked, I will tell you. My last weigh in, on Caturday, was a little disappointing. I gained .2 of a pound. (How do you say that? "Point two of a pound"? If I was quick on the uptake I would say "a fifth of a pound" but calculation doesn't come as fast as the chatter. I mean, it's fine when you're blogging, but... 'k I'm bored with this aside.) So yeah. Up a fifth. Whatever, it's pretty insignificant and I'm not crying myself to sleep on my huge pillow or anything. But it always sucks to gain, especially when you ran four times that week and observed the Rules of Jenny.
Well, except for the previous Saturday night, when I polished off most of a bottle of wine, some cheese, a couple of one-bite brownies, and 2 pieces of Popeye's chicken w/ fries on the way home. Okay, when you put it that way, dang. It didn't seem so bad at the time. Maybe the double digit blood alcohol level affected my perspective (and my willpower) a smidge.
Even without the Saturday slip, I feel like my body is starting to dig in its heels (um, I am digging in my heels... but like, metaphorically... whatever). Plateaus [plateaux?] are inevitable and all one can do is suffer through them. When I've done all I can do (okay, not ALL, but a Saturday night slip once in awhile is called "living") in terms of eating right and exercising, I just have to feel okay about the fact that I'm healthy and this sort of fluctuation is out of my control.
This weekend I'm headed home for Easter with the fambly. My mom is also doing Jenny so that might help me stay straight. We shall see. Hope to get out for a hike with the Miaouw on Good Friday - the forecast is a glorious 25°C / 77°F and sunny. Bonus: my shorts fit again. And I will pack my running gear, try to get in a run on Saturday or Sunday morning. I asked/cajoled my brother about an Easter Egg hunt on Sunday morning. Being the younger sibling, it of course pissed me off the year my mom decided she'd had enough of hiding eggs. He got three more years of hunts! I threw a tantrum which resulted in my 16 year old brother buying two cartons of real-egg-size chocolate eggs and hiding them in the most elaborate, impossible spots imaginable. I think we were still finding eggs 3 years later. Anyway, he has two late-teens to frustrate and delight with his torturing skills this year. If there is a Hunt, I will present them with any of my kills, as a cat presents her mistress with the still-twitching small bird of the backyard.
Happy Easter or Passover or non-religious enjoyment of a Stat Holiday, everyone!
Just thought I'd check in, say hey, extend the paw. Jenny serves me well - I lost another pound last week, word. The Cancer Ladies also serve me well - my cardio capacity seems to be improving, as are my run times. I did 3 miles on Sunday in 35 minutes and change, and then two days later I did the same run in 34:12. Tonight after work is a 2 mile run with the gals. I expect to huff and puff and hate every minute of it, but running with faster folks seems to be pushing me to extremes I wouldn't do on my own.
So, I use Google Analytics to obsess over who visits this blog. I happen to know, very few. That's fine. I mean, I was hoping by now to at least have my own TV show, but let's face it, I'm no Diablo Cody. (I totally would have worn the shoes.)
Anyway, every once in awhile somebody stumbles onto this blog as a result of a wayward Google search. By far the most popular entry for non-recruits is the one I wrote last April about the Google Maps pedometer. Somehow it got indexed by Google, and now shows up at the bottom of the first page of results when people search on "google maps pedometer". Hunh! Well I hope it's been helpful.
For shits 'n' gigs, I looked at the search terms used over the past year that brought people here (one at a time, for the most part). Here are some faves:
fondle my biceps Right on! I love that somebody searched this term, and that they came to my photo with the marked up biceps.
i really hate myself Sad. I hope whoever searched on that term stopped feeling that way. Glad to say I did. (Not to say I didn't return to that feeling, but thankfully it's not a permanent condition.)
stale cereal calories Another winner for the Cereal Killer post! Did the person searching these terms think stale cereal had fewer calories? The food is dehydrated, therefore less fluid, therefore less mass? Wow, I could be like a science genius.
mandibular disfunktion This one had me stumped until I checked the comments section. My girl Cookie was referencing Temporo-Mandibular Joint disfunction. I had never heard of it when she mentioned it, and promptly forgot all about it until just now. And once I finish writing this sentence, I'll forget about it again. Did you say something?
Well alright, that was fun. Time to get back to work. Fondle your Google today!
My cat-fetishizing significant other, referred to on this blog as the Miaouw, and by other qat-related monikers elsewhere, is an appreciator of RUMP. This is a fortunate thing indeed, since mine is ample. He was already half way in love with me without ever having laid eyes on my rump (plus it was significantly less ample back in the day), so I don't worry about him taking off like a cat out of hell once I finally shed some of this asstacular caboose.
Sometimes when I'm in the kitchen preparing a meal (read: shaking out some bagged salad, pressing "START" on the microwave, etc.), he will sneak up from behind and grab one of my cheeky protuberances and growl, "rrrrrrrrUMP!" appreciatively. Man that is a nice feeling.
I can't say for sure what it is about rump that attracts the Miaouw. Perhaps he is fascinated by it because of his decided lack of rump. There's barely anything there! Instead, he has a nice layer around his middle that he refers to as his "rind". He laments rind's spillover muffin-top effect, and makes sporadic attempts to fight the "fat tax", as he calls it. (I showed him my loosening trousers the other day and he said, "hey, fat rebate!" encouragingly.)
The Miaouw could stand to lose a few pounds, it's true. But he is a fan of gnaing [ŋīng]. He likes to gnaing wings, fries, pizza, and Ruffles All Dressed chips. (The latter is a Canadian culinary delight - a potent mix of barbecue, onion, garlic and salt and vinegar flavours. Gnnnnnaing!) Used to be the Miaouw could gnaing all the time and gain no weight. Apparently he was a skinny little bitch in high school who actively tried to gain weight. This led to the acquisition of really terrible eating habits. It gives us something in common, a foundation to build on
Two summers ago, he went on his very first diet and complained bitterly to me about how difficult it was for him, going from eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, to having all these restrictions on his freedom to gnaing. Moved me to tears, it did. He eventually forsook the portion-controlled approach that I use, and now uses the "skip a meal" diet plan. He eats a bag of All Dressed, and then he just... skips a meal. Then he gets on the scale and the fucker has lost 5 pounds
Meanwhile, this week I have mysteriously gained 1 or 2 pounds, depending on the scale's mood. Okay, I had some chocolate and a couple handfuls of All Dressed on Saturday, but that's weigh-in day, and I let myself have a little treat on Saturdays to keep myself in line the rest of the week. Since then, I've worked out a couple times and stayed on the straight and narrow as far as Jenny is concerned. There is no explanation for the weight gain - and DON'T say water retention because this has happened to me before and the water does not go away. Seriously, sometimes I gain weight inexplicably and I look to the next week to lose it again and... I don't.
The Miaouw was spooning me in bed this morning - sometimes he demands rump, and who am I to turn him down? - and he said, "Maybe rump doesn't want to leave. Rump likes being rump!"
If you have a more plausible explanation, I'm all ears. Anyway, it's nice to know that rump can stick around for as long as it wants to, and at least one family member will be happy about it
So, yogging! Tonight after work I am running with the Ladies of the Cancer. I believe I may have mentioned that a group of us are going to train twice a week (Tuesdays and Thursdays) after work, in preparation for the Sporting Life 10k on May 2. Last Thursday I went out with them for the first time - we ran 2 miles, and it was humiliating, yo's.
Normally when I run on the treadmill, I go for around 10-12 minutes before taking a walking break. I start fairly slowly, then gradually increase my speed - every minute, I ratchet the speed up by a tenth of a mile (goes to counting obsession, Your Honour). I usually do this until I'm running at around 5 to 5.5 mph. So in point of fact, all this time I've been talking about "running", when really, as Ron Burgundy would say, "I believe it's jogging or yogging. It might be a soft j."
But these ladies, these... Sasha Fiercies... well, they actually do run. After we'd been out there five minutes and forty seconds, I glanced at my watch (so as to properly call the time of death). Oy. I was ready for a walking break but we'd only run half the time I normally run before taking a break. I pushed through to 9 minutes and then walked for a minute. We had planned to do 10 and 1s, i.e. run 10 minutes, walk 1. I normally run 12, walk 2. Maybe that's bad form. Well, I finished the run - did it in 25 minutes. Actually, that's about average for me, when I have been running 3 miles in 37-38 minutes. The next day I ran 4 and 1s at 5.5 mph at the gym, and did 2 miles in 24 minutes, so that seemed like progress
Tonight's run is slated to be 2.5 miles. One of the ladies suggested we do 5 and 1s. I am nervous that I will underperform again. But the ladies are all very encouraging and the main thing is, we are all out there gettin 'er done.
But, yeah. I feel fraudulent calling myself a runner. From now on, I am a yogger, and proud of it.
2. Lost another pound and a half this week. Jennytotal: 11.4 pounds. I am grateful for the results but I still want to punch Jenny, and in particular I want to swat Sara Rue for her new perktacular commercial, losing 30 pounds in 12 weeks (GAH! Bitch!), and lisping. If it weren't for those three items, I would like her. She is very pretty.
On to the pornish blog title... So I had this blog title in my head, kind of as a joke, because I wanted to talk about how (especially at work, when I am in full resistance mode) I have this behavioural issue around constantly ingesting. Most of the time this means I always have a can of DDP and/or bottle of water on the go, which ensures frequent trips to the bathroom to break up the monotony of editing the business users' manual for... zzzzzzzzzzzzz thunk.
Whooooops, fell asleep talking about what I do at work.
Anyway. In addition to the constant sippage, I spend a great deal of time thinking about my next meal, watching the clock in anticipation of the next opportunity to stimulate my mouth. So in preparation for this blog, I looked up "oral fixation". I remembered it vaguely from studying Freud in Psych 100 - the oral stage of development being the first experience of pleasure in a person's life, plus all this maternal relationship imbalance stuff. I find the psychosexual stuff and the matri/patricide fantasizing dodgy at best, and can remember feeling 100 years-too-late rage at Freud when studying his patriarchal condescending sexist theories, but okay, the guy had some ideas.
Oral fixations are considered to contribute to over-eating, being overly talkative... overindulging in sugar, chewing on straws and toothpicks... Other symptoms include a sarcastic or "biting" personality (known as "oral sadistic" qualities). Another indicator is constant nail biting, putting fingers in the mouth as well as biting any future sexual partners they may have.
Hunh.
Confession: I shit you not, I sucked my thumb until I was 18. I lived in constant fear of my brother outing me to friends, and in particular to my first boyfriend. (Ha! Totally beat him to it with this blog!) I don't remember how or why it stopped. Thankfully this hearty maxillary never required correction through orthodontics. Who knows, maybe I was destined for an underbite and the thumbsucking actually saved my parents thousands!
Anyway, yeah. Looking over the symptoms of oral fixation here: over-eater, check. Chatty, to be sure. Sugarholic, hello Beuller? Read the archives much? Sarcastic - see previous. Nail biter, why just this morning I destroyed my left ring fingernail. Finger sucker, not so much in the last 20 years, but, yeah. Biting sexual partners... well, it does say future sexual partners, so I think that buys me a bit of time on that category.
Well anyway, isn't it fascinating? Wikipedia doesn't say what to do with this information. I don't know if there is treatment. It seems this condition comes about during the breastfeeding process. Weaned too soon or not soon enough. Should I find myself a wet nurse and fashion a do-over of the breastfeeding stage of development so I can finally move on to anal fixation? Maybe hire a videographer so I can make a little something on the side by selling video to online fetishists?
Fwiends! The frozen core of my listless heart is at last beginning to thaw. Every day there are drips of sunshine and optimism gathering in a slushy aura that continues to grow. The tide is rising! Soon I'll be overflowing with... happiness? Okay, this metaphor is getting out of hand. I don't want to overstate it, but it's nice to feel something other than... nothing.
I've been faithful to the Microwave Diet for a month now, have lost 8.6 pounds (love the digital accuracy - even if you have a shitty week, you can say you lost .2 pounds), and last week when they took my measurements I was ASTOUNDED to hear I'd dropped almost 12 inches. This from chest (2 inches), waist (4 inches - cha!), pooch aka abdomen (3 inches) and hips (3 inches). Of course my first and lingering reaction is to assume she made errors in every measurement, but even if she was off by an inch at every spot, that's still pretty effin good. So this is encouraging.
Also, sunshine. Warmth. The Olympics. And, I think possibly upping the medication by 50% may be playing a role. But it's so hard to know for sure. There are environmental factors at play, as well as physiological ones, so who knows. It's just good to feel... better, if not great. It's supposed to be 10°C (50° American) and sunny this weekend. Sa-weeeeeet.
Some ladies from work are starting a running group after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, to train for the Sporting Life 10k, which I'm going to do again this year. Sunday May 2nd - mark your calendars.
And, though I continue to have mixed feelings about my reliance on portioned meals, I do very well on the Jenny Craig program. It's easy to stick to, and there are tasty foods and snacks. I confess I spend much of the time between meals thinking about my next meal, but that's standard procedure. At least I know I'm enjoying the meal, not bitter about what I don't get to eat while I'm stuck eating boiled chicken and mmmmm, broccoli! Tonight I eat my petite Fish and Chips (ketchup food, yessss!) avec salad, plus my eensy chocolate cake with dollop of sugary chocolate icing on top for dessert. I can live with it.
About the only thing that's still pretty meh-inducing is my job, which fails to inspire, frequently enrages, but mostly just bores. My contract comes to an end on July 31, and then I'm taking a bit of a vacation from the working world and office culture. So that's the chocolate bar in front of the horse at the moment. Screw carrots.
If you've been following along, by now you know the pattern: declaration of renewed determination, regular updates, occasional complaints about lack of substantial progress, dimishing returns... radio silence. Weeks, sometimes months later: declaration of renewed determination!
I have to admit it's tough coming back here time and again to admit my defeat. I know that's not news, as generally the declaration post contains some sort of sheepish mea culpa, and this one is no different. The worst is looking at the laundry list of contributions to the diet industry over the past year: buying the Atkins book, signing up for Weight Watchers online (again), the thousands of dollars I have spent on personal training. And now, the inevitable return to Jenny. Fucking I hate Jenny and everything she stands for! Which is a tough stance to take, given the heavily branded contents of my freezer.
In the last 5-10 years of my life, I have struggled more and more with bouts of depression. I've been on a mild dosage of Celexa (a.k.a. citalopram) since summer 2006. In January I spoke to my doctor about the very difficult fall I've had and we upped the dosage from 20 to 30 mg/day, which felt like a backwards step since rightly or wrongly I have this judgment about needing to use drugs to control my mood – I thought this was going to be a temporary measure. Anyway, I think the increased dosage is helping, insofar as it allows me to go to work and function, but I still feel like a piece of clothing that's been washed a hundred times – faded, rumpled, shapeless. Ready for the GoodWill bin. Some days I feel like I have no emotions, just emptiness. Way in the back of my consciousness there is desire, to do something, to be someone, to find joy in creativity and interaction, but it's such a long push to get to the front of the haze of disinterest and lethargy that the fire of ambition is barely a flicker.
In the midst of this, there is one thing that brings joy, or a simulation of it, without fail: eating. If life has no flavour, food still does. So I succomb to it time and again, in the absence of any other excitement. And then my depression becomes more profound as my unhappiness with my appearance grows. It's vicious indeed.
Then you have the whole third world sitch, and the self-loathing only grows. God, I even loathe myself for indulging in self-loathing! GAH! All this navel-gazing, over indulgence in my appearance, my clothes that don't fit, how bad I want to chuck the diet and eat a box of chocolates or whatever. How much money I spend on trying to lose weight. How much energy I spend trying to forgive myself for the pre-occupation. And I don't think that's going to change. This is where I am, this is the life that I live. I live in a privileged culture that has spawned its own brand of life challenges. They are existential rather than practical, but they are real to me.
All these demons swirling around eventually led me back to the doors of Jenny Craig. I lost quite a bit of weight using this program in years past, and kept it off for a couple of years. I was always embarrassed to admit I was a client. I need my foods measured out and pre-packaged for me to prevent me from eating everything in sight. And I will pay far more than the food is worth for this "service"! Whatever, it works for me. I've lost 7.5 pounds so I feel good about the decision. I hate putting money into the industry, but sometimes self-image trumps politics.
So that's where I'm at right now. Kinda dark, kinda struggling with the self-like business, and then struggling with the struggle to self-like, as if that's not an indulgence in itself. I know there are so many of you who will understand this, and who will want to reassure me about my own likeiness. Thanks in advance. This is not a cry for validation or reassurance. I get that you dig me, just like I know you know how much I dig y'all, and appreciate your support. Mostly I just want to share.
New and improved D-Weighted surround sound: Click PLAY.
The little arrow up there. Yes I'll wait.
Aight, that's it.
Okay, so if Iggy Pop is the Chairman of the Bored, I'm gonna put in for Secretary. Who will bring the motion? Second? Carried. I'm just going to go ahead and assume two of you raised your hands, since here you are, reading my meticulously captured minutes... Of the meeting... That goes on in my head... When there is nothing else there to fill it.
Moving on. So, I lost a pound. A measly, paltry, beggarly picayune pound. (Hat-tip: thesaurus.com.) Blah, blah, blah, slow and steady, healthy rate of loss, etc., oh, and do me a favour and STFU. Golldangit, you kids, I sweated my BAWLLS off this week, racking up what I thought was an impressive 46 Activity Points, using only 9 of my 35 weekly flex points. And yet the fat, she stubbornly clings. What can I say, I have a very attractive skeleton. Can't get those squatter fat cells to move out without building a frigging barricade and starving them out, it seems.
Ah well. When life hands you... nothing, make nothingade. Assholes.
Continuing good work I've been back at the running. I ran twice last week. I'm trying to stick with 3 miles / 5 kms for now, and then I do my 10 minute abs video. The other night I did the 3 miles in 36:05, which I thought was pretty effing good, considering last week's entry, where I mentioned running it in 37:40. I really had to push myself, but I felt good about it. On Caturday, the Miaouw and I walked for two hours to pick up Lola's heart meds. The vet clinic is around 4.5 k from my place, so round trip was 9 k or around 5.5 miles. A good hearty walk. We rewarded ourselves with some EXCELLENT Indian food. Relax, bitches, I counted my points, even then, and ate light that night. On top of this stuff, as always, Derek tortures me twice a week. Whattaguy. So I'm feeling pretty good about the activity.
Boredom and Anxiety: is there a connection? I'm trying hard not to give in to resentment. I feel like I'm bored with my menu but I know I'm mostly just pissed and feeling deprived. I'm not actually all that deprived. Hang on a sec. I'm not actually AT ALL deprived, big picture speaking. I think it's just the notion of restriction. I find myself fantasizing about boxes of chocolates and large orders of fries. Never a good sign. I'm also really fucking bored at my job, which doesn't help. I look to food as a source of satisfaction and emotional excitement. Also, since I watched a marathon of the show Obsessed, I am trying to practice more awareness about how I use food and eating as a distraction from anxiety. Is boredom a manifestation of anxiety? Or something that can cause anxiety? Honestly, I want to know what you think.
Hang in there kiddiwinks. Don't the January get you down.
I will stick within my points, and if I go over, I will earn them back in Activity Points. (Normally I try not to swap my Activity Points for food if I can help it.) Mostly I just want to not gain weight.
Pffffffffffftttttttt! Okay, obviously I had to say that. I think I am to be admired for telling myself it was a possibility. Or... something.
Well anyway, it was Christmas Eve and the Miaouw and I were driving to Kingston to fellowship with my family on this most cherished of consumer occasions. We fought, he called me a See You Next Thursday, I bawled like a baby and would have insisted he pull over except we were driving on a 4 lane highway at the time, so instead I just cry-shuddered til we got to town and then got him to stop at a gas station where I attempted to clean myself up. He was contrite, but the damage was done. I said, "Let the stress eating BEGIN!" and I never looked back.
And so it was, that the week between Christmas and New Years, plus the weekend following New Years, I was once again OhTeeDub: off the wagon. By the end of the 10 day stretch, my jeans were feeling depressingly snug at the waist again. FOOOOOCCCKK!!! You GUYS! GAH! Well anyway, I didn't weigh myself last week, but I got back to the business at hand, and this morning when I did my Tuesday weigh-in, I find that I am up just 1 pound from my pre-Christmas weight, so all in all, I'm feeling okay.
I am re-committing myself to my night-time running. I ran three miles on Saturday - it took me 37:40 to do it, which is well off my best time, but at least I did it. The other thing I am experimenting with, for as long as I can take it, is not eating my 35 weekly WW flex points (review of the WW Points system) or my Activity Points. So far so good, but if the austerity measures get to feeling too tough and I'm in danger of chucking the whole thing, I will have something to fall back on.
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