Thanks body... just for once. Thanks.

Yesterday I half completed a blog post about Victoria's Secret. Frankly I was mad. Well not mad so much mad as sad. But I deleted it...

See I went to Vickies yesterday to see what this "perfect" bra business is all about (I don't get the fuss BTW). I have a lot of bras. And by a lot, I mean, more than a few. OK what I really mean is about 20 and that's just from the last couple of months that I had to buy new since the old ones no longer fit. In fact if I had to make a rough estimate I'd say I've probably spent $1000 on bras in the last year (buying them in three different sizes). So I consider myself a bit of an aficionado. In any case, I went and, well... it's swimsuit season so you can see where this is going. Of course it's not like the people going to Vickies are looking for skirted tents but I mean come ON. Get real. These suckers wouldn't cover half my hiney much less any part of my top half. I should preface this by saying that I DID actually buy aswimsuit from Vickies (online though and in the blue dot). It's in my drawer where I suspect it will probably live out it's remaining days. Unless Jillian and her 30DS can perform some kind of swimsuit summer miracle (I'm holding out hope).

Anyway all that aside... I found myself feeling really crappy when I left there. I didn't even buy ONE SINGLE bra. Why you ask? Well frankly I think Victoria's "Secret" is plastic surgery. That's what I think. I don't really believe that any reasonable American woman can expect to look like the women in these swimsuits. OK OK that's an exaggeration. My sister looks like those women. But she hasn't had kids yet so her stomach doesn't look like it's been run over with a tiller and then beat with meat tenderizer AND she can still eat an entire cheesecake over the course of a weekend with no ill effect (ok AND she works out like 3 hours a day but whatever). Soooo yeah yeah there are women that can pull those little numbers off. It's not their fault, and they probably work their butts off to do it, but I want to hate them anyway. It's not right. I know. But still... Why does Heidi Klum need the perfect bra? I need the perfect bra. Heidi Klum could probably never wear a bra again. Anyway. HA HA I deleted the post from yesterday cause it sounded a lot like what I wrote up there ^. Full of loathing. And nothing to be proud of. Only that post had no happy ending.

Yesterday I overlooked the fact that I was walking the mall in size 6 pants. I forgot all about the little incident with the cheesecake that I ate (and didn't gain any weight from.. cause I WORK OUT LIKE A MANIAC). I denied the fact that my Deputy told me he was the luckiest man alive. I neglected to mention that I did 30DS AND yoga. I walked. I ran. I cleaned. I had a good hair day.

And today... well the scale said what it said and I did my shred and then I was hot so I went outside (in my shorty shorts and sports bra... that you would have NEVER caught me dead in before) and I felt sooo great I decided to go for a run. A RUN. And runs are where I have all my greatest epiphanies. And this was the one I had today...

LOVE YOUR BODY. Just for once. LOVE IT and THANK IT. (it's really not that big of an epiphany I realize)

This body.

This body that you packed 40 pounds onto in less than a years time because you ate non-stop to try to keep yourself awake all night to work. All the while abusing it by never sleeping. And yet it kept going. 

This body that couldn't run more than 60 seconds a year ago and can run 9 miles now.

This body that never treated you badly even though you fed it oreos, six at a time, for 10 years.

This body that can pull of that Jillian Michaels 30 day shred (with only a little cursing at the TV)

This body that can stand for 13 hours, welcoming life into the world, and into it's hands, and still come home and make breakfast and take kids to school before collapsing.

This body that can strike a yoga pose fit for magazines covers.

This body that can have a piece of cheesecake (and not alittle one) once a month and NOT change the scale for it.

This body. Yours.

My buddy Rachel really got me thinking yesterday about my scale issues and she couldn't be more right. I'd be happier if I threw it out. Cause when I really strip away all the issues... my body is amazing. As is each of ours. I spend so much of my time thinking about the person was I WISH I was or I THINK I SHOULD be and so little time rejoicing in how far I've come and where I am. I have come a long long way. A year ago I never would have eaten 7 servings of fruits and veggies a day. A year ago I never would have passed the cookie isle at the store ENTIRELY. A year ago I never would have RUN much less RUN 9 MILES! A year ago I would have been dragging my butt around my house instead of doing yoga for an hour or more. A year ago I never would have almost stopped eating red meat completely and make salmon once or even twice a week. A year ago: I weighed 178 pounds. I was tired. Exhausted. I hated my body. I hated myself for letting myself gain 40 pounds. I hated the people around me just because I hated everything. I didn't exercise. I didn't run. I couldn't chase my kids and I would have rather sat on the couch that do anything else cause I was a slug. A year ago I was not the me I am now.

So for today. I'm thanking my body. Loving it and saying "Hey you're alright." Tomorrow may be a different story but today.... Thanks :)

J. Crew. The First Lady likes you and so do I

I did a bad bad thing. Which I am going to share with you all. Because... frankly I need to tell someone. I went to J.Crew. However going to J. Crew is not the bad thing. I did not go to the J. Crew online. The one where the clothes are safely out of reach. Instead I went to the real actual J. Crew. This is how it happened....

I went to Fresno (a bit of a drive from my house). I don't go to Fresno very often, well frankly cause it's # 1. kind of far (45 minutes) and I don't like driving my HE-UGE car up there. I feel like I have to plant a tree to offset my carbon footprint everytime I go. and # 2. I tend to shop when I am there. There are places to shop. Lots of places. But... my grandfather was having surgery there and I thought I'd have lunch with my dad who lives there as well. So I went.

Oops I got there too early. So... dun dun dun. Shopping. And I have to admit I set myself up to have time to go to J. Crew cause, well frankly, I like it there. So I went. I had 30 minutes and a pair of pants in mind. After much searching I FINALLY I found them in a size 8 (and three shirts to go along). Apparently a size 8 is common here cause there weren't many. I couldn't find the color I wanted so I settled for khaki. In any case I found them. I have bought things from J. Crew many times. Most recently a dress for an occasion. The last time I bought pants from them I bought a size 10 and had to return them because they were too small. Way too small. I didn't even order the size 12 because frankly... I WAS a SIZE 10 in every other maker and I refused to wear a size 12 just cause J. Crew runs small. So you can see how I'd be afraid of the 8.

I went in the dressing room and prayed. It sounded like this:

"Please Dear Lord, let these pants fits. Please. Please. Please. Lord if they are too small I will literally fall to the floor in a mound of tears and hysteria and no one wants to see that. So please, for the sake of the salesperson and myself, Lord, please, let these size 8 pants fit. Amen. PS Bless the starving children and help us have world peace."

And I took my jeans off....

And I put the J. Crew Favorite Fit Everyday Chino in Khaki, $59.50 (on sale today for $10 off) on. With my eyes closed. Just in case. And they fit. Thank you Lord. Thank you. THANK YOU. ANd please don't forget about the children and the world peace.

Uh Oh. They don't fit...

What? They are WAY TOO BIG????? It's a lie. Check the tag. Size 8 regular. Get another pair in another color. Quickly. Uh oh. Still WAY TOO BIG.

Do I dare?

The saleslady bless her heart, she probably thought I was a lunatic. Prancing around the hall holding out the waistband like I was looking for my missing stomach.

Saleslady: "Excuse me ma'am. Would you like me to get you those pants in a smaller size? A 6 perhaps?"

Me: UM... I don't know. Do these shrink?

Saleslady: Well they do. A tad. About 2%. But not enough to fit you in that size. BTW Your butt looks fabulous in those pants (shamelessly trying to complete the sale I realize).

Me: Um... OK I guess I can try a size 6. I'm sure they're going to be waaaay too small though. (I didn't want to tell her I hadn't worn a size 6 since 1994). But please bring the Dark Fog. Grey is so now.

Saleslady: Sure thing. Be right back. Grey is the new color for spring. It's true. (thanks I keep up with my fashion news)

(she returns, pants in hand in 3 colors)

Me: (pants now on, once again prancing in the mirrored area) Uh... Uh... Ok what do you think? (I think these don't possibly fit me).

Saleslady: Those look PERFECT. Those 8's were waaaaay too big. I love those pants on you. They look fantastic. (again I know, trying to sell the pants). In fact I have those pants myself and I love them. (again with the selling)

Me: Thanks (sheepishly). I'll take them. All.

And now my friends, you know why I spent $249 at J. Crew today.

beauty and size is indeed in the eye of the beholder...

OK So I must preface this blog post with 2 things: 1. last night was easily top 5 worst nights ever at work, at least as far as busy-ness was concerned, and 2. I have PMS. Also I'm already home and ready for bed with my shades drawn tight and my earplugs snugly in place which in essence means I can't hear or see myself typing which I imagine must look pretty foolish. I might also add that I have already take 5 mg of Ambien which generally speaking can be expected to take full effect in about oh, say 5 minutes after you take it, which incidentally was about 7 minutes ago.

However, despite the sheer exhaustion and the utter despair that I feel at this moment, I will blog for the sake of sharing this information with those whom might glean some benefit from it. I have PMS. I discussed this the other day. PMS makes me moody. It makes me gain weight both real and imagined and it makes me feel like I should burn my skinny pants and given my bikini to my sister and just resign myself to wearing a potato sack. Perhaps with accessories. In any case. I'm pretty tough on myself about my fitness and training routine, my diet, my weight, the size of my R calf, my L bicep, my waist at the widest point and the smallest and of course my hips. I guess it would be fair to suggest that I'm pretty tough on myself about pretty much anything. Weighing 140.4 on Thursday and then 146 yesterday was discouraging to put it mildly. Partly "bad carb" weight as I refer to it, also water weight and PMS pounds. Whatever sounds most plausible. OK No more typing for now... Ambien working and soon Joni not making sense...

OK returned post nap and ready to finish. I won't go as far as to say well rested but I will say rested in any case. So where was I? Hard on myself. PMS. Crappy night at work. Around mid shift I admitted the wife of a friend of mine who was having their first baby. OK I haven't seen this person in a couple of years, which is to say, I have not seen this person since nursing school, which is to say I have not seen this person since I weighed less than 170 pounds. The reaction, was, I'll admit, not what I had expected. It isn't uncommon for people to not recognize me these days, or at least not people I haven't seen in a while. I didn't think I was that big but I guess I was. And secondarily, I still feel like I need to lose about another toddler before I'll be "skinny". Which brings me to my point. My friend, an African gentleman from Nigeria, did not say "wow you look great." He did not exclaim "holy cow where did you go?!?" Instead he just approached me and said, jaw open, "What happened to you?" As if to imply I had lost my hand in an unfortunate smelting accident or my hair from chemo. That was the inflection. Not, you look fantastic, inflection, but instead, holy cow what did you do to YOURSELF inflection. Later he asked me where my butt went (one of my more pronounced former  assests so to speak). This may sound in appropriate but You'd have to know the gentleman to know it is not. Instead it is just honest. Later still he told me he couldn't understand why I'd want to be "so skinny". He like how I looked before, like a "womanly woman" (hands forming an hourglass curve). Even later still he told me my thighs looked like rocks (hands forming fists like boulders). He spent a bit more of the night worrying about "where I went" than I cared to hear about. But I felt very privileged to be part of the birth of his baby.

So while I hesitate on any given to day to even willingly ACCEPT my body as it is, this person sees it as less that perfect, in the opposing direction. And this got me feeling pretty philosophical about size and how we as women so easily start to focus on a size or a number (I just want to be a 6 or 8 or 2 or I just want to weight 140 or 120 or 110) rather than seeing the inherent beauty that exists in our features as they are now. The hips and butt that so readily annoyed me 35 pounds ago, were exactly what this fellow found most lovely about my shape. 

Now I've finally started my period so the PMS can stop. I can stop inhaling all food within my grasp. I can stop feeling the size of a bus and I can stop obsessing about the scale number again. But I'm going to remember last night the next time I nitpick my behind or my thighs. I'm going to try to remember that the beauty of you thighs is more in your eyes than you think...

Yoga to live. Live to yoga.

I might have to change the name of this blog because if I keep running I'm probably going to injure all the parts that are required for running and thus be unable to run. Yesterday morning I did 3.5 on the elliptical which is safe but not really much like running. Last night I did 2.5 ish on the treadmill which I hate. Essentially I spend whatever length of time I am on said treadmill cursing silently and praying that I do not die. I realize I'd pass out and fall off before I'd die but still with my luck I'd probably hit my head on the way down and the paper would read something like this: Local Woman Dies in Tragic Treadmill Accident Because She INSISTS on Running Despite Warnings to the Contrary ... OK it wouldn't say that because that is waaay too long but in any case, in this little town it would probably be front page. Then people would feel bad, but inside they'd be laughing because of how ridiculous it is to run yourself to death. 

Anyway, I've found that I really love yoga. I'm a quick mover and a busy all around gal and yoga, in the right setting, puts me in touch with myself and the earth which I enjoy. I might preface this by saying, I tried to dance as a kid. I took all the classes that were feasibly taken. Ballet. Jazz. Tap. New age blah blah something. And... I sucked. I sucked at all of them. Or maybe I just felt like I sucked but either way I didn't stay in the classes, probably because my mother was too drunk to drive me. Come to think of it, she might have been the one who told me I sucked so that she could drink INSTEAD of drive me. Well, it's all tequila under the bridge. But I didn't stick with it as it were and I always wished I had. It's my one adult regret. I want to be a ballerina. Mostly cause I like leotards and little skirts. But I'm too short, because I think a height of 5'8" minimum is required to even TRY to dance much less succeed. And I'm kind of clumsy. Like fall UP the stairs clumsy. That makes yoga a good choice. Well not Bikram so much but Vinyasa for sure. If you move slow enough you probably won't hurt yourself. Plus the clothes for yoga are comfortable and it's a good excuse to not wear a bra.

Losing and losing

Weight. My Mind. Not necessarily in that order. I promised the dep that I would take a week off of "weight bearing" training. My plantar fascitis is almost completely pain free. I hesitate to say gone for fear it will return but it's 95% of normal I'd say. Yesterday was a gorgeous day here. 72 degrees. How could I stay inside? I just COULD NOT. So I opted for a walk, which of course became a jog, which naturally turned into run. A little teeny tiny one but still. Running no less. I just HATE not running. It makes me just feel like a total blob. YUCK. So I did it. Against my better judgement. But only two miles and NO PAIN! And my plan was just to neglect to mention it to the dep when he got home. You know, not lie, just not bring it up ;) Little stinker. He knows me too well. He wasn't home 5 minutes before he said "TELL ME you didn't run today."

Me: I didn't run today (whisper... much)
Dep: You DID NOT RUN TODAY.
Me: No. I did not run (very much).
Dep; You said you wouldn't run and you did. You broke your promise
Me: EXCUSE EXCUSE EXCUSE (it was sunny. It didn't hurt. I walked more than ran I promise)
Dep: You are a retard.
Me: I know you are but what am I.
Dep: Fine you ran. You choose dinner. If you break your other leg I'm going to laugh at you.

Anyway that was the extent of it. I told him I wouldn't push it. He shook his head disapprovingly and we moved on. Today I'm going to swim and lift, not because my foot hurts, but because I feel guilty.

On the scale front.. you know. I'm up. I'm down. I want to lose 10 more. I don't give a flying fetch what I weigh. I'm weight bipolar. But I'm at 142 today. Last week I was 144 ish so I'm inching off some pounds without point counting or strict calorie guidelines. I'm pretty resolved to shoot for about 135 or so which would put my body fat somewhere in the vicinity of 20% I think. But I'm in no rush to get there at this point. My big beef is with my stomach and I'm doing lots of ab work so there is plenty of muscle there, just also plenty of fat to cover it.

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.

feelings

You know feelings.. like pain. Pain is the feeling I have at present. Pain in my leg and periodically a pain in my ass, but the latter can't really be blamed on my running. I had a re x-ray of the broken leg that is no longer broken. Yay for small victories. Bones do heal. Even mine. So the doc sent me for the x-ray . I might add that the dep was the driving force behind the x-ray in the first place.  Anyway doc sent me for the repeat of the repeat of the repeat xray to see what there was to see inside my flesh. I hope that radiation doesn't harm your bones or cause some morphing at the cellular level because I might be becoming the Hulk or something. Hey wait.. that might improve my running. Hm.

 Well the result of the x-ray was a waste of two hours that I could have been running but never the less, good to have the knowledge I guess that my leg is healed and looks fine despite continued pain. I'm asking myself now... why am I worried about this little pain when I ran for three weeks on  a broken fibula? t=The simple answer is, well... simple. I ran for three weeks on a broken fibula. I don't want to re-break my leg. I ran for three weeks in complete denial and ended up with something a lot worse than just a little stress fracture. So lesson learned is.. denial is not a river in Egypt. It IS rather, a place where I like to frequent, especially as it pertains to my running. So I did the only sensible thing. I read my own x-ray, cause I'm moonlighting as a radiologist,  and then came home and ran an easy four miles.

My run today was sluggish. I don't know if this is because I'm feeling the five pounds that I need to lose (or maybe 10) or if my legs are just tired from not running for a few days. I'm feeling generally tight in my hips and calves and kind of irritable about not being able to just hit the ground running so to speak.  It could just as easily be attributed to my morale issues as I am becoming increasing frustrated with the Nike + whose accuracy I doubt. Oh it would be easy enough to just run to my 70% RPE )rate of perceived exertion) but then how would I know my pace for training and ultimately improving time. I mean my first order of business for the SF marathon is to cross the finish line alive, after that it would be to do it in some time frame that is at least predictable. Now I  might predict that it's going to take me 7 hours but at least I can know if I'm on target to finish in the predicted 7 hours. In any case, it's more of a case of me just being generally irritable that something isn't working like it should. I tried to calibrate to thing again at 400 meters and it told me that the distance I ran didn't match 400 meters. The only explanation I have for that is 1. I'm just so fast it thinks I'm flying or 2. (the more likely scenario) I'm so slow it thinks I'm crawling. Insulting. I mean is a 10 minute mile THAT slow? OK it is. I know but I'm trying to teach the thing to recognize MY marathon pace not my sisters sprinter pace. Ugh. Technology. Blessing and frustration. This would be one of those times I'd call on the software engineers I know and say, fix it. Please.

The good news is that I'll be buying myself a Garmin before you know it. I'm going to lose 10 pounds. Just cause I want to see what happens. Maybe my stomach will magically melt away in ten more pounds. Probably not but I think I'd better lose it just to be sure. And my 'trainer' who might also be known as my husband has devised a little reward program. For everyday on track with my weight loss and training routine, in to the jar goes $5. At some point soon I'll be implementing the Garmin and then we'll know just what the Nike+ is made of.

LSD

No, not the hallucinogen. The run. THE run. The long slow distance run. In running jargon this is the run that is done at what is known as a "conversational pace", which very simply means you should be able to have a conversation while running. Not a dissertation or a debate, just a conversation. This is a hard concept for new runners to wrap their mind around. In fact it's probably a hard concept for anyone to wrap their minds around. The idea is that you have to be deliberate in your running. There is no "as fast as you can" no push beyond the limit of your fastest. This is not how the LSD works. Instead the LSD should be a pace that you could sustain for, oh, about 26.2 miles or so. Maybe 26.2 miles sounds like a distance that might as well read: to the moon and back. Maybe, if you're an ultramarathoner, 26.2 miles might as well read: stroll in the park. For me, it's the former. So, the problem that presents itself is this, if you've never run a marathon, how do you know what pace to run at? Well you could operate at 60-70% of you MHR if you know what your MHR is, if you even know WHAT a MHR is. Or you could i-rate your exertion scale and run at a 6-7 on a scale of 1-10. Or you could just run with someone else and have a conversation. 

Today was my first LSD since my break. Well it was technically my first LSD at all considering that to this point, every long run I did was at a pace where I felt like I would essentially die at any minute. Who wants to feel like they are going to die for 26.2 miles? Not me. So I should run my LSD at my "marathon"pace, which based on some formulas should be like 12-13 minutes a mile. But I don't know my marathon pace so I just took the dep with me and talked with him. It translated into a 11:12 average pace (Or so says the nike+ but I don't know if that can be relied upon for 100% accuracy). It's hard to run with the dep for a couple of reasons. 1. He runs 3 miles. I mean that is his run. His running focus is ALWAYS qualifying in his mile and a half PT test. He doesn't run 5 miles and he doesn't think in terms of longevity. It's balls to the wall so to speak, and that is how he operates. That's funny because he is not a "balls to the wall" type of guy. Not in the slightest. The #2 reason he's hard to run with is that he is 6ish feet tall. This means that his legs are basically the same length os my entire body. His one step = my four. (ok not four but at least two). SO this causes frustration for me. I'm a self admitted easily frustrated person. I've never participated in team sports so my concept of coaching is "just do it".  In fact, my concept of most things in life is "just do it". It works in some circumstances, some not so much. The last time we ran together I was so frustrated with his "coaching" that I told his to just be quiet. I appreciate that he is trying to motivate and he could make me run faster but then he doesn't really get the concept that I'm not trying to be faster.

So.. that brings me to the point of this post. The LSD. Today was my LSD run. 5.44 miles. 1:01. Average pace 11:12/mile. And? Pain. No. Breathlessness. No. Exhaustion. No. Success. Yes. 

i've been thinking...

and I've been afraid to say it outloud. I was looking at my Nike+ run history and it's undeniable... my longest run was the day I broke my leg. Oh, I imagine that the leg was probably on the verge of breaking for a month before I actually broke it but the day I broke 4 miles was the day the it, in fact, broke. So that was many moons ago. Well not that many really, only like 3 but still, not yesterday. On November 19th I hit the road again. I had tried to run and failed. I tried a couple of times to run from the car to the front door of the gym or from the store to the car, to no avail. But that day, that blessed day, November 19th, I ran 3.59 miles at a 10:56 average pace (hovering really around the 10 ish mark if you deduct warm up and cool down pace). Now it's do or die. Shit or get off the proverbial pot time.

 Big Sur is coming soon. OK not that soon, like 18 weeks, but still. I have to make the decision if I'm going to run the 10.6 or shoot the moon and try the full. I'm leaning toward the 10.6 mostly because I don't want my first marathon to be a disaster and I think trying to train for a marathon on a mostly still not completely healed leg (how's that for vague) is not the best idea. So the 10.6 it will probably be and San Fran will be my marathon debut. This is a big decision in a runners life. If you're considering being a marathoner, you probably want your first marathon to be memorable and mostly finishable. I think SF might fit the bill. It's far enough away that I'll have a good solid year of real running under my belt and still close enough to look forward to. Plus it's San Francisco so how can you really go wrong with that. Now for the choice of training.

I have John Bingham's book Marathoning for Mortals  and I like it. Mostly because it's written for people like me, real people, who don't worry about VO2 and all that jazz but also because he's got programs for half and fulls with every level from walk the whole thing to run the whole thing. Now I'd never set out to WALK a marathon. Good God people who wants to walk 26.2 miles? Ick. But I like that he's realistic and that he recognizes that people come to running with all different fitness levels from "I can run to the end of my driveway" to "How much do you run? I run 50 miles a week." (50 miles a week is a lot). John's programs are time realistic as well. 14 weeks for the 1/2 and 18 for the full. My only real issue is that the half schedule calls for far less running then I'm already doing. The first week has runs of 2 and 3 miles and the  long  run in only 3. Not a crisis I guess but either way. Maybe what I should do is the marathon training but then only run the 10.6'er. A couple of the miles on that course are just straight uphill. Ouch. The marathon training might be a better prep anyway.  

Well either way, my point was to say, I'm ready. I'm ready to get back in the saddle. And p.s. I'm scared. I wouldn't freely admit that to anyone (so it's a good damn thing no on reads this blog) but I am. I am just absolutely TERRIFIED that I am going to break something or wound some other part of me. There is that little part of my brain that screams "SEE you were never meant to be an athlete, otherwise your stupid leg wouldn't have broken just from the act of running on pavement." And then there's that other part of my brain (I think it's a little bigger) that says "Listen here missy... you cannot let the years and years of being told you were smart and not athletic stop you from running a mother fricking 100 miles if you want to do it. You have a heart and lungs. You have feet and legs and aside from that, what more do you need? So shut up, put on your Sauchonys and go outside fool. Hit the road and run. Listen to your body, but run. Just run"

sleep is not....

to be underestimated. Truly. I was taking a long, hot soak tonight thinking about sleep. Mostly about how I don't get enough of it probably. It's pandemic I know. The average adult needs somewhere between 6-8 hours of sleep daily. Right? Why you ask? Here's why. It's not revolutionary. We don't need to beat a dead horse. But read this anyway. That shit will just depress the hell out of a night shift worker such as your truly. Me. Faithful and trusted Registered Nurse. 

Let me show you what Thanksgiving week looked like for me. I was scheduled to work Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Monday we were overstaffed so they called me off. I was grateful. I was tired and had homework to do. Tuesday I ran around like a chicken with my head forcibly removed all day. No nap. No rest. No feet up. Zero. Zip. Nada. At 1715 (or 5:15 pm) I went to work. We were busy. And by busy I mean busy. I think I took lunch at 0230. Maybe. My longest period of sitting was maybe 20 minutes. Home I came. Kids were at the in laws thankfully. The dep and I visited and I think ate breakfast. I went to bed at 0730. Tired. So tired. I opted out of a sleep aid (namely Ambien) and decided that since I had too much to do I would only sleep until my body woke up, whatever time that was and then get up to cook. Master plan: lay down in the afternoon before going back to work. 1000 and awake I am. 2.5 hours of sleep. I cooked all day and generally exhausted myself, never sitting. No time for nap and by 1600 I was dragging ass. Oh well, back to work. Wednesday night was a fun repeat of Tuesday and as an added bonus I had a benefit 5K to run at 0800 on Thursday. By 0700 Thanksgiving morn, my legs resembled some kind of shapeless, swollen blob. I ran and then came home and did the day. Aided mostly by champagne and white wine. By 0200 the NEXT morning I had had 2.5 hours of sleep in 68 hours and I had gained 3 pounds of water weight. At least.

Ok to be fair that's not a typical week. Typically I stay up all day my first day of work (like tomorrow). Maybe I'll sleep an hour or two in the afternoon if I can manage. The second day looks a lot like the first. I'll skip the gym usually, because I'm just too damn tired and swollen. I'll sleep part of that day. Maybe 3-4 hours or a very good day and then just lay around, too tired to do anything productive and not able to sleep, despite the aforementioned exhaustion. The third day looks remarkably like the second except I'll run or go tot he gym because I feel so incredibly shitty that I figure it can't get much worse. Maybe I'm SO tired I can sleep 4 hours. Maybe, but probably not. Work again that night and then come home the next morning, go to the gym and go through the day. Usually no sleep or a shortish nap of an hour or two because anything more than that and I feel guilty for sleeping the whole day away. Anyway on a typical week by the time my third day of work has elapsed  I have slept 6-8 hours in three days. Ew that even looks bad. 

People will say to me "how do you DO THAT?" The truth is this... I do not know. I just do not know. I feel like shit. That's fact. I look pretty bad. Also fact. My brain is certainly not 100%. Not a comforting fact. But I don't know. I know this though. Anyone who is sleeping on that kind of schedule can't be feeling too hot or healthy. Which brings me to my long awaited point. How can you expect to lose weight and be healthy when you consistently deprive yourself of the thing your body craves most, aside from water and food? The answer: You cannot. Diet on the night shift. Here and HA I might add. There is that eat to stay awake phenomenon. There's just no way to put in kindly. It stinks. It sucks. It sucks ass.

The dep says I should blog about sunflowers and happy thoughts. He doesn't have a blog. Clearly.

blog failure

I read somewhere recently that most bloggers want, in fact, to not be bloggers, but to be real true blue authors.... I think the person who made this astounding revelation must want to be an author, for I, in actuality, do not. I have a friend who told me I should be an author, but truth be told, this friend only said this because they are aware that I can write, in minutes, what it might take the average person hours to write. It's really not a compliment. In fact, I think it could be a hidden insult. Hm... there's something to ponder. I don't think quantity a good author makes. If it did, I'd have that shit in the bag.

Lately I've been pondering something else, I've been blogging on the "other" blog. The B blog. Well it really gets all the attention so it should be called the A blog. Anyway I've been trying to decide which blog ought to be the A blog and what the subject matter of said blog should be. I hate to always talk about weight loss. That's dull. I mean clearly it's a theme in the lives of about 50% of Americans but shit who wants to hear about it all the time? Not me. That's for damn sure. Recently I've been dealing with some religion issues but I don't want to blog about that because who wants to hear about religion? Not me. That's for damn sure. Hm. It wouldn't be totally unreasonable to talk about running. I spend at least 6 hours a week actually doing it and about 50% of the rest of the time thinking about it. How to be faster. How to run longer. What races I'm going to do this year. If my broken leg will ever be 100% again. Where I will run. When I will run. It's an exhaustive list really.  But then non-runners probably don't want to hear about my running. Well then I guess I don't really have any worries since no one reads my blog which is good because my dream to one day be a real author will never be realized. Darn. 

SO maybe I'll just blog what I've been blogging. Nothing. Random thoughts of zip. 

I went to the gym today. It's a torture chamber but I love it. I tanned. I don't like tanning per se. I don't want to age prematurely or have a bunch of wrinkles or look like Magda on Something About Mary but it's so f__ing dreary here. The fog and the overcast. Blech. If blech isn't a word, too bad. I just made it one. In any case I hit the bed because frankly I like I'm getting SAD. Not the traditional sad but the SAD kind. The kind of SAD you get when you live in a place like Washington state where is rains like 364 days of the year (I live in California in a place where it rains like 4 days a year but I have nothing against Washington. Thanks for the apples Washingtonians and btw I think I'd like to live there). Anyway a little tanning bed action for about 10 minutes, just enough to synthesize some vitamin D and then I hit the dreaded weight room. Dun dun dun. The men in there frighten me. There is a dude there whose  bicep is 18 inches. 18 inches. Seriously. Yikes. My thigh is 19 inches. And I think that's kind of big. Well anyway, the dep (aka hubbie) and I went in there together so he could tell me what to do and make sure I don't look like a man in the process. So far so good. Then some resistance work. Inner, outer thigh and the calves. My poor poor calves. The right one is a full 3/4 inch smaller than the the left so I did that machine. Ouch. I did some free weights and that will hurt tomorrow, then I drug him to the treadmill because we nurses believe in cardio. :) 15 minutes of running at 90-95% of MHR (which is too high btw just for those who wonder).

Let me tell you how I used to feel about the gym. I joined the gym a little of two years ago. I can't remember what possessed me to even walk in the door of the place but I joined and we went a bit, you know, typical gym behavior. Go a little while then stop. Then we used it periodically. I'll admit there were months where the $88 was completely wasted. Not one of us stepped one foot in the place. Then I started losing weight. I started running to boost the loss and the unthinkable happened. I discovered that I, perpetual shopper and hater of sweat, liked running. A lot. And then the second unthinkable happened. I broke my fibula. Running, no. Walking, barely. So that gym membership cam in right handy. It had been so long since I'd been in the gym that the guy at the front counter welcomed me as a new member. The elliptical and I became very good friends. Best buds you might say. I went and visited her 5 days a week sometimes 6 and started logging miles. Just hoping to keep the cardio up (you know we nurses believe in cardio). Then on November 19th it was sunny. I was feeling good. Things at home had been a little troublesome, I won't elaborate but I needed a release. I needed a workout and felt compelled to put on my shoes and try the road. I got out the nike+, my favorite running partner and just went. I ran 3.59 miles that day with an average pace of 10:56 , let me quantify that by saying this, in the day I broke my leg my average pace was 12:29. I had only broken the 12 minute mile barrier once before my injury. So there is something to be said for the elliptical. Oh it's not like the road. Not in the slightest. But, just the movement, the action of getting your heart beating and your body moving, was enough to help me shave almost two minutes off my mile time. My most recent run was a 10:26 pace and the day before that (when I wasn't hurting) 10:03 average. If I didn't warm up with the + running I'd break 9 minutes. Low 9. That's a good good thing.

OK now for the  disclaimer: the Nike+ is not 100% accurate. I mean from run to run it's accurate for me and it's not far off overall. The day I did the 5K the nike+ thought I ran 3.3 miles instead of 3.1. I'm not sure if the course was really 3.1 miles but provided it was then the accuracy is off by that small of an error. 0.1 miles per mile maybe. Not bad for a $30 gadget. I don't work for nike but if that thing even breaks I will absolutely cry. I love my Nike + almost as much as my Sauchony shoes and my champion sports bra (and I don't work for them either)

OK I suppose that will conclude today's installment and I'll be back tomorrow to talk about nothing some more. 

double blogging

Maybe two blogs was a little over-ambitious. I honestly don't know how I even survive my day to day life much less find time to blog. By this I mean, I work full time as  RN. I am mother, which is of course more than full time. I am a wife, which is probably more than full time. I am currently obsessed with running and my physical fitness, which is emotionally a full time job.  That's four full times, if I can count correctly. Which of course, I might not be able to do, since I have no time left to learn how to properly count. Oh and I forgot the fifth full time: Student. What on God's green earth? I do not know. Some people might say I have more energy than the usual person. Which would, in fact, be an accurate description of me. I used to have so much energy that I would do things like stay up all night to sew a quilt or finish a book. That is a LOT of energy. Oh wait, they have a name for that. Mania. 

So when I got a little chubby (OK fat) my mania was replaced by an intense desire to sleep. My fine physician, who I adore and trust unequivocally, told me that my life's problems could be traced to one source. One. ONE. That is powerful stuff people. To know that everything that ails you might in fact be cured and/or eliminated by the removal of one tiny little thing. In my case the thing was sleep. More likely the thing was a bad genetic lot but we're blaming sleep because it's easier to fix than genetics. Anyway, melatonin blah blah blah. I guess humans are supposed to sleep more than like an hour a day. Sheesh. The nerve of scientific researchers to come up with these ideas. Sleep. I think we might have touched on this before, but then I'm probably confusing this with my other blog. 

This is typically how my week goes. Well let's do this upcoming week because it is an actual example of how my week will go. Today is Sunday. Which means church basically all flippin day. Don't misunderstand me, I like to get my worship on as much as the next dude, but dang three hours is a long time. An extension of the 3 hour church experience, we keep the rest of the Sabbath holy which essentially means I get nothing down around here except sitting here worrying about all the things I'm not getting done. Anyway Sunday. That's it. Monday I work. So Monday day I will futz around here trying to recover from Sunday. Go to the store to buy all things I realized that I needed on Sunday. Do all the laundry created on Sunday. Try to do the homework I avoided on Sunday. And a bunch of other stuff I could have done on Sunday, or made my children do on Sunday, if I weren't so busy keeping it holy and setting a good example and all that. Work out because I have to. And I will at some point, and probably unsuccessfully, try to nap before I pick the kids up at 2:27, 2:47 and 2:57. Then I will run around like a mad woman trying to help small people with long division and algebra before I quickly throw some food together that we can enjoy as a family because we do like to see each other for about 5 minutes a day. Then I will work all night. ALL night. I will get home at about 7 and throw some breakfast and lunch together and take the small people to school. After that I will go to the gym to physically torture myself for a minimum of an hour. This due to the health and fitness full time obsession. THen I will come home and drug up on some Ambien in the hopes of getting some sleep, which will of course be futile, because let's face it, people aren't supposed to sleep when the sun is up. I'll do the same routine and Monday afternoon, only I'll be a walking zombie. Wednesday morning will be a blur of exhaustion and more gym time. I don't work three in a row this week so I probably won't completely feel like dying on Wednesday. The rest of the week will be taking small people here and there and working again on Friday night. There will inevitably be three days this week where I get less than 2 hours of sleep. So you can see the issue. Sleep. 

For now I will stop because I am depressing even myself and, well frankly, I don't think blogging qualifies as keeping the Sabbath day holy at all.

and second blogger post...

I'm not sure why I am keeping two blogs. Could it be that I just have entirely to much free time on my hands? Hm.... let's ponder that. Let's see, I work full time as a Registered Nurse. This means 3 shifts of twelve hours per week, with commute that means I am gone for 14 hours a day on the days that I work. So no free time on those days. Plus I work the NOC shift (1800-0630) which means I am essentially comatose for several hours on my first day "off" and trying almost all day to nap on my first day ON. Added bonus. I am a mother of three children ages 8, 10 and 13. Oh but don't misunderstand, this leaves me tons o' free time. I mean they are totally self sufficient. They don't need me at ALL. In fact, while I type this one of them is cooking dinner, one is doing laundry and one is cleaning the house ;o) Oh and then they are all going to rub my feet. I almost forgot to mention that in addition to those two little things, and being a wife, or at least trying to be a pretty decent one, I am also in school full time. Because I don't have enough to do. Not nearly enough. 

Oh and I'm training for a 1/2 marathon. Not a full one because I just don't have time for that. I mean come on, where would I fit in 25-30 MORE miles of running a week? Right now though I'm only training for the couch olympics though on account of the fact that my leg is broken from the 30 miles a week of running. So NOW I have TONS of free time. Literally TONS. LOADS.

In addition to those miniscule things I am on Weight Watchers which means I am weight watching. This means trying to watch it decrease. This doesn't occupy THAT much of my free time though because I only obsess about my weight about 80% of the day. I used to be skinny. Isn't that what every fat person says?"Oh I wasn't always fat. That only happened after I got married, had kids, got stressed, _____________ ." (insert your life stressor here). But really though all that malarky is true in my case. I was literally the SMALLEST child in grade school. I mean 80 pounds in junior high. I finally hit 100 in high school. It wasn't because I didn't eat either. My great-grandmother, who was a product of the Depression era, and my surrogate mother (when my real actual mother was out clubbin', which in the 1970's meant being drunk at a bar, but that's another blog altogether) thought that because she had done without everything  

1. Everyone else had to Eat everything 

2. Everyone else had to  Eat approximately 5 pounds of everything 

3. Cookies were a food group 

4. Half and half was what you put on cereal. 

5. Twinkies were a food group. 

6. You had to to eat a box of Twinkies a week.

7. Grape soda was a food group and you could make an ice cream float out of it and anything else that you could find that was even potentially carbonated. 

God rest her merry little soul. I loved that woman. She literally worked her fingers to the bone picking cotton and altering clothes that were too big for other people because she was hoarding all the food for me, so that I could have all of the aforementioned food. I never gained an ounce. 

Oh but the happy times were short lived. I should have seen it coming. I went to Europe when I was 16. It was a wonderfully depressing time. I had never been so utterly alone. Legal drinking age in Europe was 16 so that's what I did. And I ate. Cheese. Bread. Other things that are not low fat. I cam home after 3 months and I weighed 130. Still relatively thin but that was a 15 pound gain in as many weeks. So... I got married? That's what you do when you gain weight, turn 18, graduate from high school, leave home at 17. That's doesn't make sense does it? 

Anyway I did the next logical thing. I quit my University education, because that's overrated, and had babies. Well that's what I wanted to do so it made sense at the time. I made it through one failed pregnancy and one successful one with a 5 lb weight gain. This is when I started to realize my destiny as an addict. Well lets just say that while clubbin' like my ma would have been a viable option, it wasn't my first choice. Food was. So I had yet another baby. That one left me a little larger. Maybe 155 pounds. Now I was on a roll. I couldn't get pregnant to save my life, then I couldn't STOP being pregnant so I had yet ANOTHER baby. Oh I love that little dude. What a great surprise he was. And the result... one adorable baby and 15 more pounds. 

So I did the only sensible thing. I threw the scale away. When he was 3 (in 2003) my MIL started WW. I thought for fun I would get on her scale. Uh oh. 178 pounds. How did I not know I weighed 178 pounds? Well I think the answer might have been spandex and sweat pants and some denial. But I started WW that day. October 2003. By February I weighed 138 pounds.

But that wasn't to be. I loathed exercise. Ew. Sweat. Exertion. Ew. And thus to maintain 138 I had to literally starve and let's not forget that I ate a box of Twinkies a week as a kid. SO I settled for 140-145. A size 10. I was feeling great. I became a RN. I started working nights. uh oh. I gained 5 pounds the first month. Oh geez I was too tired to care though. Unfortunately I was also too tired to care when 5 becamse 10 than 20 then 30 then 35. I gave away all the skiny clothes and bought new ones. Better to be fat and happy then skinny and miserable? Hm. Then one day, after working 6 days in a row (which is a little like suicide) I realized that my legs were in absolute agony. Not unusual. But after two days when they still hurt I said OK enough is enough. I pulled out the scale which had been hiding in the cupboard for about a year and got on.

178 pounds

Good grief. I was where I started. So I started WW that day.  Today I weigh 145 and I am training for a 1/2 marathon (or at least I was). I like sweat. I like to run. I am liking the new me. Not just the lower scale reading but the transformed thinking. I still have a way to go before I am "done". 5 years ago I never would have believed that I would weigh 178 I also never would have believed that I would run anywhere, except to Macy's.

first blogger post...

I have a blog here . It's about weight loss and my journey from chubby, lounging RN to cheetah-like running RN. OK maybe not cheetah-like but not lying on the couch either. But that blog is getting a little crowded and not everyone wants to hear about my crap that doesn't involve weight loss.