I have to admit it. I have a love/hate relationship with my scale. It's not good. If I get on it and she rewards me with evidence of a loss, I'm HAPPY. I'f I get on it and she curses me with a gain, I'm GROUCHY. I knew this and I know this about myself. Yesterday I was feeling pretty positive. Blogging and thinking. I was actually thinking about throwing her in the trash. Complete with a funeral. Flowers, maybe lilies. Music, like amazing grace on the organ. A choir perhaps. I'd wear a black dress and a veil and then as soon as she hit the bottom of the can I'd cue up the Solid Gold Dancers. Or cheerleaders. Or step team. Maybe those tall flag girls from the high school football games. One of those. This idea arose primarily out of the notion that maybe, just maybe, I was putting just a teeny tiny little bit too much emphasis on the number on the scale. Just a teensy weensy bit. It was actually the Dep's idea but that is probably primarily because he is sick and tired of hearing me obsess about my "weight", that is to say, the actual number. I mean it's irrelevant anyway right? Hm.

But here's what happened. I've weighed 146 ish for a couple of weeks. It seems like I can get to 143 and then I have a long run or work out hard and whammo! 146. So maybe I ought to just quit paying attention to the number entirely? Right? I mean Ashley Tisdale doesn't even own a scale right? I know this cause she said so. She said it in Shape magazine, where she also referred to herself as "curvy". So you know she never lies. Cause she is SO "curvy". You know, in places where "curvy" is defined by weighing more than 110 pounds. Places like Hollywood. I was there last week at a concert. It was a fun time with my sister and we glammed up a little bit for the show. Or at least I was feeling pretty glam until I saw the other "glam" gals and suddenly felt not just 34 but about 74 with every wrinkle magnified to the same power it takes to see an atom. Anyway Ashley likes her body how it is and she doesn't even own a scale. And since I like to model my life after people who start in musicals about high school. Viola. There you go. I'm going to like mine too?

But then the unthinkable happened. I got on the scale yesterday and... dun dun dun. I weighed 143 again. Well sheesh. How can I hate her when she is being so kind to me. Forget that I'm dealing with fluctuation from bloat and ignore the fact that I had a little more than a little gin the night before (and you know alcohol dehydrates you, handy if you're trying to lose lose PMS pounds). So I love her again. She's my BFF and we're going out to lunch. But I mean were only going to have like three pieces of lettuce and some carrots. Then we're going shopping for skinny jeans. Really skinny ones. I agree to let her stay. PLUS I paid like some astronomical amount of money for that scale (even though it still says my body fat is like 45%) and I'm not one to literally throw cash in the trash so again. There you go.

Then today... I did my usual routine of the morning. Stretch Pee. Weigh. 147? What? Oops I forgot I was wearing my nightgown. Strip down. Weigh. 147!!! WHAT? I hate you scale. Maybe I didn't finish peeing. Nope I'm pretty sure I did. You evil evil liar. I'm not even going to throw you away I hate you so much. First I'm going to beat you with a hammer (and not a little one either). Then I'm going to douse you in bleach (cause it's the most harmful chemical I have in the house). Then I'm going to let the dog pee on you. She's always looking for a place to pee anyway so there! Now she has you. Then when that's all done. I'm going to pretend to throw you away, just so you'll think the torture is over but NO. I'm going to pull you out of the trash and weigh myself 17 times and every time I see the number I'm going to call you a nasty name. Like jerk. Or butthead. Or accurate.

Sigh.... the fact is it's the number. It shouldn't be but today proves that it is. Yesterday at 143 I was feeling encouraged and happy. Today... I'm the same person. My ultra low rise pants still fit (yeah I bought those by accident, people who have had three kids I don't think are necessarily meant for ultra low rise). The scale says 147. Maybe I weigh 147 or 143 or 145. But the fact is that the number is just that. A number. So for today I'll let her stay. But if she thinks we're going out to lunch she can just forget about it. I'm taking the kids for Mexican food and I'm going to eat a burrito cause I ran like 100 miles this week and I can calorically afford a stinkin burrito. So there you go.

do chickens have feelings?

I think they might. Today I drove past a truck full of hens, en route to certain death I've no doubt, and they were staring at me. I mean into the depth of my soul staring. I think one of them telepathically told me to rescue her. I wanted to scream from the window of my *as big as a 747* SUV... "LET HER OUT", but that would have looked kind of hypocritical. The environmentalist animal lover... driving the biggest car known to mankind. OK not the biggest, but still you could fit a whole other car inside my car, so big enough to look gluttonous. Anyway, I've toyed with the idea of being a vegetarian before, both for conscience and health, but when it comes down to it, if I'm not staring the chicken in the eye, she tastes pretty good. When I don't have to look at the cow standing in a pile of her own manure, she tastes al-dang-right. So that is kind of that, so to speak. But today, I swear for about 1 hour and a half I was totally committed to never placing about piece of chicken or beef in my mouth. Totally. For an hour and a half. Then I went to Panera and had a turkey bacon bravo sandwich. But I felt bad eating it. Really bad. I mean it was delicious. But I still felt bad for those chickens. I didn't have a chicken salad sandwich though so that counts for something right? Nah probably not.  

In an attempt to cure my guilt though I'm going to plant 2 trees. One for the chicken and one to offset the carbon footprint left by my giant SUV driving 40 miles to Trader Joe's to buy organic food. Huh? Did that makes sense? I don't think that makes sense. Drive to buy organic? Spend more money and harm the environment to eat more healthy. Something is wrong with this picture... Well it so happens Victoria's Secret is having a semi-annual sale so at least the trip was multi-purpose. If I keep running I'll just ramp up my mileage until I can run the 40 miles. Well anyway. 

So I woke up today and could hardly get my wedding ring off. It's been falling off for months, apparently my fingers had fat in them too. I mean I was considering tying it to myself to keep from dropping it in the sink and now it won't come OFF? Well I didn't do bad with water yesterday but I didn't do great either and I knew it was water weight. So much so that I actually just decided that I would skip weighing this morning because I knew I'd be up and I knew it would be a scale lie. But then, coincidentally enough about an hour and a half later, I weighed myself anyway. Hm. It seems like an hour and a half is my willpower maximum today. But I weighed myself then got mad at the scale and said to it "you're a liar". It's not lying probably it doesn't know how to lie but it's not humanly possible to gain 3 pounds in one day. It's just not. So I'm just going to pretend I didn't see that number and I'm going to drink 2 gallons of water and a cup of the worlds tastiest diuretic, coffee  

I went to the gym, operating at about 60% of capacity I think. I ran on the treadmill. Yay cause that's my FAV! (not) My left heel hurt. My right knee hurt. My head hurt from thinking about my right knee and my left heel. The good news is that the broken leg doesn't hurt, I mean not where it was broken. Everywhere else, but not on the break. Hey I'll take what I can get. So I ran. That hurt. So I walked. That didn't hurt but that also doesn't burn calories like running. That would like comparing an oreo cookie to a piece of Cheesecake Factory cheesecake. So I upped the incline to 10. That hurt again. SO back down to .5 and back to running. That hurt. Back to walking. That didn't hurt. Back to running. And so on and so on. Until 35 minutes had passed and I was frustrated enough that I just stopped. Uh oh it appears that in some circumstances my willpower threshold isn't even an hour and a half. Now I just feel crappy. I've said before, with enthusiasm I might add, that there is nothing that running won't at least improve if not solve. Guess what running does not improve? Feeling like crap. Well technically it improves feeling crappy temporarily. Like an hour and a half. But then endorphins, auf wiedersehen, and welcome back to the pre-run misery with the new added bonus of muscle soreness. I hate to admit it but I might need a break. I might have finally reached the point where my body is saying "hey stooopid why don't you take a rest for pities sake?" OK. OK. Alright already. I'll rest. Sheesh.  

But just an hour and a half.

yeah yeah (Read: Why I wasn't worth it?)

I love running. It's true. I haven't replaced my food addiction (or food love I guess I could term it) with running but pretty dern close. I'm just gonna tell you why. Even though you didn't ask. Here's what's great about running (in no particular order):

1. Endorphins

2. physical fitness

3. endorphins

4. time with yourself (those long runs can be pretty long) to think and ponder whatever needs to be thought about or pondered

5. endorphins

6. cardiovascular health

7. endorphins

8. lowered blood pressure (not a problem for me but why not head it off at the pass)

9. endorphins

10. increased insulin resistance (and thus lowered risk of diabetes)

11. endorphins

12. appetite suppressant (what? exercise AND reduced hunger? I might add that this is only temporary. I'm downright RAVENOUS about an hour after a long run)

13. endorphins

14. better sleep and more energy when you're awake.. all thanks to, you got it, #15

15. ENDORPHINS :)

This is by no means a comprehensive list I might add. But here's what I know about running (and a lot of other cardiovascular exercise as well, but running is my choice), the list above is by no means the end of the benefits of running, but it's a decent start.

Now you may be skeptical like I was. I mean sheesh I was already only sleeping 4 hours a days as it was, good grief, WHERE am I going to fit an hour of exercise of any kind, other then lifting my hand to my mouth or standing in the shower? I know, right? Now, you are actually telling me that I should sleep LESS than that in order to run? No thank you mister. I'll take a pass. Well blah blah blah. Excuses excuses excuses. Oh I'm so good at those. I can excuse myself right into a slab of cheesecake. But one day I realized that those excuses really wouldn't hold water anymore. In order to continue to say I was too busy, too tired, too __________ (insert excuse here) I was going to have to just get off my hiney and give it a go. SO that's what I did.

I may add I don't generally lack motivation. I graduated Valedictorian from nursing school. I don't lack motivation. Last semester I took 15 units on TOP of being a wife and mother (though I'll admit not the best one in either department probably), working full time and training for a marathon. I raised my younger sister and a good portion of my life I raised my mother as well. Seriously, I don't lack motivation. I don't tell you this to toot my own horn (though it certainly looks that way and I apologize). But truly, I say this for one reason only, and that is because I know there are many of you who do the same exact thing. I ALWAYS made time for the things I "had" to do (and you know what those are for you all ladies and gentlemen) but when it came to things that were all mine, the things that focused on my health and fitness, I just conveniently moved them to the back burner, saying "next week", "next month", etc. etc. I have to do this. I have to do that. I have to put another hat. (I made that rhyme just for the heck of it) How is it that in the face of straight A's and a spotless house, healthy kids and a sister at a University, scooping my mother up over and over and supporting my husband in an exceedingly stressful career, I could decide that my health had no worth? How could I stay up all night to write a paper or sew a quilt, or make a halloween costume or bake 6 dozen cookies, but I couldn't take 60 minutes to work up a sweat? How is it that I could devote hours to buying and preparing healthy food for my kids but yet I could justify eating all night to keep myself up at work? I guess the short answer is that somewhere along the way, for reasons better discussed in another blog, I decided that I wasn't worth it. Plus I generally didn't like sweat so that was another convenient excuse.

But one day I decided I was in fact worth it, and here's where it gets real honest. Really honest. That kind of honest that you don't always just want anyone to know. So... put in on the internet right? Anyway, the fact is, I threw away the antidepressants that my Physician (who also takes care of my bipolar mother) told me I should accept that I'd be on for the rest of my life. I flushed the ambien that I had come to rely on for sleep. And thus I decided not to medicate myself through my life. (and disclaimer: I also might add that medication has a great place when used appropriately. I certainly do not condone flushing your medication, but I am a nurse and sometimes nurses think we are doctors and can make those kind of bold, albeit occasionally foolish, medical decisions). Anyway, disclaimer aside, I was tired of feeling like I needed a pill just to survive my life. I'm embarrassed to admit it but I had to come to rely on these little round pieces of magic just to get through the day (and or night), when the problem wasn't that I needed to medicate away what was wrong, the problem was I needed to face what was wrong head on and attack it. I had become complacent in every area that focused on me. Which is so remarkably UNLIKE the person I am. The people who know me would never use the word complacent or lazy to describe me. Ever. But there I was. Just plugging along in life while it passed me by. All grins and energy on the exterior. All misery and self loathing on the interior. And dare I say it.. running played an enormous part in changing that. So there you have it.

When people ask me why I want to run a marathon I usually say "because I can", but the real answer is because I never thought I could.